“Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?” – Jalal ad-Din Rumi
Winter drags on in the Antipodes this year and the dark, cold days with drizzling grey skies are taking the toll on mood and mien.
Antique Engraving
The sun paints the west with saffron
The sky around it mauve.
The naked trees are shuddering,
Night comes fast, dark, cold.
In front of me the city stretches
Dressed in grey and black,
While in the horizon’s depths
Bell towers echo a melancholy
Sadness, violet, heavy, baroque.
A chimney spews out shadows
Spreading its smoke like endless veils
That asphyxiate me,
Aided by the bony claws
Of dead branches.
My pain, a dying bird,
Has nested in my throat,
And sorrow throttles me
With hands like pincers.
In the west, the golden glow’s no more
Black clouds cover the sky.
Hope flies, chased by the wind,
Who gallops past,
Piercing my empty soul.
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