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The Framed Picture
the music comes again and again
soft feet patter across the Persian carpet
soft lips caress the wine
we will meet again.
the whisper hung in the air and then vanished in a sparkle of
magical tinkles
her fingers caressed the smooth water
mixed with aquamarine
and chocolate milk
the cathedral looks so old
the pillars have these ornate carvings
aegis of ancient heritage
they whisper that people wait
they are still waiting
they will always wait
when all is said and done
and the night hangs like a sultry mood
and the wind blows and speaks to the moon
and you are gone and I am not here
her heels stalked across the shiny mahogany floor
leaving invisible marks
and she swept back her long tresses
and stared at the reflection
and like some kind of warped image
red lips stared back at her
the haze of a pale mixed with dark
the arch of forgotten
everything incomplete
nothing understood
who will like the swish of paler paint
unless Renoir made it
she spills her heart out
and nobody checks it
anymore
it was her heart but it is no longer hers anymore
she waits
she worries
and he watched like the invisible deity that he was
waiting for her to scream out
and tell him he existed
and he was pleased at being nonexistent
my life
she said, it wasn’t her life anymore
it was the game of Bluff that I lose in again and again
the flicker of eyelashes that tell you
that her eyes are bigger without glasses
the sweep of hair that tells you that she could be glamorous
if she chose
and if she were
what of it then
the pieces joined and formed the perfect puzzle
but there was something missing
somewhere between the trees
and the girl on the horse
there was something that waited and spoke in a lilting melody
where am I where have you put me could you tell me where I am
the shadow crouched
waiting to spring out
and become a lovely painted tiger or some such
falsehood
and it was too hard to take the puzzle apart
so we let it be
tear this boundary
the wall between you and me
where did it exist
does it still exist
isn’t it the seductive train of music
that arouses us and makes us realise that
life is an illusion
an undeniable fact.
so she waited
feeling awed as the maestros
I waited with her
because she needed someone to wait with her. Who else would understand the
mercies of her lost mind?
not me at least
I am just her ambassador
on the train that goes to the Blue Mountain
where things come from
and where things were forgotten
and now we seek them again
and the invisible deity laughs
playing with cards
he sips some wine and watches us walk
little dots in a universe so
small
and when he turns
there is his princess waiting to tell him that everything is well
with another glass of wine
and so he stops
wait for a moment, then be gone
and in that moment they rush across
flinging their arms wide
and when they walk on the water
there isn’t a deity to tell them that it’s impossible
and the sky smiles benignly
indulging in their game of probability
for a moment
but then he returns.
watches them, crash bang the crystal balls fly as his rage
becomes immeasurable
he remembers
he throws his wine down and flays his arms about
angrily he summons them all
to hold a conference
yes but remember
there is that moment
only watch out
for he has returned.
if they want they can turn him away again
lure him with secrets
and he will swallow them
a whale floats serenely on the blue mask of
dreams
and they ride atop the whale
smiling in the glow of what was real
until now.
the lights are flicked out
and it is time now
the book is put away
the fingers are lifted
and everyone is resting
and they are flying
why.
6 April 2005
bravenet.com