131. the walled garden
today, the sacred fire waits
alone, to banish those filtered clouds,
and ghosts of Moorish cousins
lingering beside the verdant stream –
not for your words or sentiments,
but only their tomorrows.
preoccupied with the pebbles of time,
the languid pools and rills
opened up the doors within
and parted the ways
for us to enter our predetermined future.
not pursued, nor sought, still
they loved their affinity with time –
the delicate grasses of light
in shadows would live
and fabricate a separate reality,
another culture alive with
a love for purity, silence and beauty
– their first real lyric.