What I Mourn
©October 9th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
©October 9th, 2019
By Vijaya Sundaram
I sense throngs of angels
Poised at the edge of my nostrils
Quivering with scent
Fainting after feasting on perfume.
I taste their songs as they hum:
Cucumber and lemongrass,
Melon and berries,
Pineapple and jack-fruit.
My fingers still remember
The brushing of silken wings
As brief as time, and tightly woven as gossamer,
As I picked them up,
One by one, out of the grass
Where I lay, looking up
At a mass of clouds, a throng
Of them, with lutes that split apart
And formed again, making music
That only I could hear.
That is to say,
I cannot describe any of it –
Those delicate, delicious, delirious
Moments,
Growing up, knowing each sound,
Each scent, each sense was the first,
The only time I could know them
As they were then.
The river changed quickly,
And stepping into it, I stepped out,
Only to slip downstream,
And only glimpse a shadow of a memory.
This, I mourn.
______________________________________
Poised at the edge of my nostrils
Quivering with scent
Fainting after feasting on perfume.
I taste their songs as they hum:
Cucumber and lemongrass,
Melon and berries,
Pineapple and jack-fruit.
My fingers still remember
The brushing of silken wings
As brief as time, and tightly woven as gossamer,
As I picked them up,
One by one, out of the grass
Where I lay, looking up
At a mass of clouds, a throng
Of them, with lutes that split apart
And formed again, making music
That only I could hear.
That is to say,
I cannot describe any of it –
Those delicate, delicious, delirious
Moments,
Growing up, knowing each sound,
Each scent, each sense was the first,
The only time I could know them
As they were then.
The river changed quickly,
And stepping into it, I stepped out,
Only to slip downstream,
And only glimpse a shadow of a memory.
This, I mourn.
______________________________________