Often in the evening

Her silhouette appeared

In the two corner windows.

From across the thoroughfare

Passionate strains of Debussy or

Rachmaninoff filtered down into

The street as the clarion of her ritual.

Bathed in the light of many candles;

She moved sylphlike, concupiscent

Brushstrokes exposing the soul of

Unrequited passions

At times I surrendered to her

Beguiling in an effort to wash

Away the emotional fetor of

Clientele and restless patrons.

Life had become tedious

And there were very few

Inspirations anymore.

This vision was mine;

A purifying moment

That tranquilized the

Pecking beast in me;

A moment for my eyes

To imbibe the feelings

Of all that could never be

Seeing me gazing spellbound,

She would often float onto the

Balcony in her vapory peignoir;

Waving and blowing me kisses

Which I always caught in my soul

For inspiration when life darkened

And my heart became too heavy to bear.

Wide-eyed; I would always wave back

And then quickly retreat into the clamor

Of my eatery across the street.

Richard Lloyd Cederberg

Posted by P. Vijay Kumar

When dawn arrives singing

to wake me up,

I lie waiting for the

vigour and warmth of noon.

Later, when the afternoon sea breeze

dance around in a flurry,

When the sand and mind burn

in summertime fury,

I sit silent and alone in my hut,

waiting for the dusk to appear.

Time flies in a chariot,

and in a hurry.

The dawn, dusk and night

travel past me.

I sit undecided still in a dream

not clear, not sure.

Moving nowhere in the claim.

Dreams

remain stagnate

as inertia clings to the core,

permitting fear to immobilize,

resulting in life without prospect —

save the spirit breaks free to capture the

opportunity. There are no chances in life —

unless taken.

Don’t think I was meddling because I
Saw more than the others. Everything about
You seemed transparent really, and each part
You thought was hidden appeared to me as
A book longing to be thumbed through-

What was I to do?

If you truly believed you were
Hiding your heart ~ you weren’t.
I didn’t purpose to see more than I had,
– Or make mention of it – but when the portal
Opened and light fell on a heart held captive; I was
Touched in a place normally reserved for weddings
Or baby showers. Of course, then, after you realized
How clearly I saw what you thought was hidden; you
Groaned and turned away from me. Trying to cram
Your heart back into a box; you asked me to keep
The secret and not say a word to anyone-

What was this place you had
Fashioned from your TRAGEDIES?

Musty chambers blemished from too many failures;
An unattended bedchamber replete
With bouquets of wilted flowers;
Frayed carpeting;
Curled wallpaper;
Cups brimming over
With anguished tears;
Letters of love, addressed
TO YOU, (written by your own hand)
Crumpled in tight balls and dispersed
Throughout the room. Downhearted; I
Knew this ewer called YOU was in need
Of an understanding soul

Asking if I could come
Closer to see better; you
Softened and showed me
A headstone where I might
Enter into your secret places.
From trembling eyes cleansing
Tears flowed, – an ablutionary ritual –
Each drop plunging into the hidden berths
Of skeletons long held in contempt. You shook
Abandoned as sorrow poured from your reddened eyes.
Misunderstandings, like rivers, surged past rocks and
Fallen trees; emotional barrens once bursting ripe
With the fetor of unfulfilled yearnings dissolved
Under the disembogue of an honest
Emotional climax-

Afterwards … reaching out with strong hands;
I tenderly bosomed the emptiness that remained,
And then pulled you into the fortress of my heart