By Toribia Mano
Love have known as birds have known their skies
In lush of spring and in the summer’s fall;
In a gray field of rain, a sun-drenched wall
I have watched petals fall, and new moons rise:
And this I have found that although I am wise
To all the ways of love, I know not all,
But like a child, still grope and heed the call
Of magic sunlight dancing in my eyes.
And love is this: sun that burns and sets,
A kingdom greater than a pile of gold,
Or a name written in fire of flag unfurled,
Or silver stars across vast orbits hurled.
And love is this, too: strength that one begets
By toil, fear, ecstasy the heart can hold
Each day I light my lamp for you
My flames of faith, of love, and anguished cry,
For burnished beauty which has held me by
In times of need; day yet bright, yet new
Against my eyes. And in each varied hue
Of light I see, I know that as I sigh
For colored wing or leaf that ere it fly,
Shall find you last with me among the few,
For even as all beauty must pass by
Or lamps like mine betrusted as they shine
Or life be dimed by death each was we got
This I have learned and this will always know:
You are close to me as earth to sky,
As root, not leaf, is closer to the vine.
I shall not tire you, no, never tire
To hear your laughter in my mind like song,
Feel in my heart your nearness, fierce and strong
As death on living flesh, as steel round fires,
As sunlight with a passionate desire
Burns leaf and flower, earth to crimson throng,
And leaves a splendour as he goes along
Of coins and laurels, music from a lyre.
No, never will I tire of you, My love.
Only a fear I have that with each thrill
Between your heart and eyes, between your lips
One day you’ll find as taste of sand, as drips
Of ice and barrenness of rocks. Then, Love,
All sunlight will be dark, all music still.
If you have drunk of love and found it sparse
Of bitterness of sweetness on your tongue,
If thunder you have sought but knew no wars
Because your spirit is no longer young,
Be wise, Love is sun that burns the reddest rose,
That brings the fondest lover to his grave,
And makes of men and women neither friend nor foes
But lovers all, each to his king and slave.
Thus passion will be neither here or there
But in moment held articulate
Between a lover and his love in any place.
You will not walk in sorrow nor despair.
Unknown you’ll find me in your darkest hate
Tearing your heart with pain and crying in your face.
Copyright © 2011 by J. Estoque
All Rights Reserved