Loves Looked Upon.

Winter Waiting

Like a wilted rose I lie
Skin to snow, bone to twig
Dark hair, or was it lighter,
Hard to say as i never noticed.
Nor did the world tell me.
About my hair, and my skin that melted,
Like dewdrops on a summer moring,
That vapourised never telling.

Like a wilted rose I lie
Staring through closed lids.
Lids? No ,but just paper thin skin
Pulled over the eyes, for namesake.

But they hide within them
Eyes so green, that one who looked into them
Could see the essence
Of all grass and stem ever created
On the lap of mud and rain.

And right above my tapered chin
Are two lines. So red. Enough to put the apples into shame.
My lips i call them.
And through them i breathe.
Narrow, short breaths.
The cold never bothering,
Because it is the love that someone sends from far
Through the north wind that blows.

And as i stare at the leo and stars
Through closed lids and broken twigs,
I hear the wind telling me this:
They have arrived.
The gypsies,your love,my love.

And i wake from my sleep,
Too long i ve waited , and just then
As my nose breathes in,
I know that they are on their way.

Because it is a part of them that i love.
And that is what keeps me waiting.
First met last fall and separated last spring,
I still remember, the parting song
So tender and sweet as the blooms around
Like the meeting song was at fall.
Cold and unknown.

It is for them i wait,
Not with tears, but with faith,
Because it is they who bring what i love the most.
More than the seas in which i swam in summer.
More than the honey that sweetened my bitter.
More than myself that i hate even better
And more than the winter that separated us yonder.

And with an eye light and soul dark,
I wait until darker dies the night.
For a wilted rose i am and it is their music,
Their music and freedom that blooms
The wilted rose.

And my dear, it is no dark moustache
Nor thick black beard
Or fair skin that keeps me waiting with frozen bones.
But rather, the music of the gypsies.
My gypsies and their music.
My music and their stories.