there is nothing much to do,
so I pour
90 ml of Rum into my
universe
- a glass -
(sometimes it reflects
the color
of your eyes)
sit near the window
open it
let the night
peep in
with
the rain
the breeze,
and a strange
mellow
light,
(sometimes
it reminds me of your
skin, your
body)
open a book of
poems,
read of love
read that
'there is always
something
to be
made of pain'*
and
I think
of my mother
I think
of you
of poems
that haven't been
written,
I look
at the shadows
in the drizzle
look at
the vast emptiness
before me
listen
to the heartbeats
of the rain
and
write
'there is so much one can do
on a rainy night
like tonight
perhaps, one can hold her,
hold her
wrinkled hands
for a while
or
one can sit and listen
to someone
who is
in pain
cry, weep or laugh
tell the kids
bedtime stories
of living and dying
of love & hate
of memory
& forgetfulness
of agony &
longing
or perhaps
one could tell them
tell oneself
that
it is worth living
that a word,
time and love shared
is more
than eternity,
that
it is
a lullaby
of life,
a gift,
a poem and
a perfume
that lasts
a lifetime!
___________________________________
* From Louise Gluck's poem Love.
