FOUR

Hello, Everyone-who-reads-this,

The Oblivion Corpus is back. This is the fourth poem, short and bittersweet. Enjoy!

Hope you all had a nice weekend. Mine was and still is pretty busy, but nice nonetheless.

Don’t forget to like, comment and share!

And, as always, happy reading!

Sincerely,
Mary Matshine

P.S. Do you like the new look of the blog? 🙂


sunrise

Wavy Sunset. Oil on paper by Mary Matshine.

 

We’ve observed together
Vermilion sunrise and better
Silvery moonlight high above.

We’ve walked the same lane
Through the wind and rain
Snow and feeble leaves.

And when the noon comes
Severe heat evaporates us
We go our own ways

Just to start all over again.

 

*If you enjoyed this poem, then do read these: ONE, TWO, THREE.

 

The Wisher of Wings

unicorn-moon-header-0011795366634


Blue laden Moon hanged aloft.

Hiding in the corner of nature is Hope;

while over the meadow of the Mythical Steed,

a Star is falling and falling…

On its peak the Meaning concealed,

the bottom kept a secret of Dawn,

both sides thinning and thinning,

pouring into the Endless Love.

 

The green hornet flew above the pastures,

searching for the wellspring of Wisdom,

thinking about the smell of roots…

He trotted beside.

 

Vast and vigorous, with tightened muscles,

the mane undulated by a whiff of  Zephyr,

he was tall and wispy, gold and silver,

with a deep black stare.

 

Anchored in direction of his aim,

he abandoned his home long ago,

yearning for indigo skies

slowly drove him away.

The Star is summoning to its realm.

 

His nostrils wide, breathing painfully;

sore legs and clenched chest,

Yet he cannot stop. The desire is great:

He would soar into the dome of clouds.

 

The swirl of his horn pulling him to the ground,

steam stemming out of his pores,

stepping over the soft, fragrant grass…

(but he cannot stop, no, he cannot stop).

 

The river flows by, gurgling drops of blue light,

dry is the tongue, the burning mouth…

Home is calling aloud.

 

Swarm of bees buzzing in the mind,

flock of birds is pecking about,

just a few thoughts — few bright sparks:

The Wings are there! Endure! Come on!

 

… slowly reaching the end of the road,

down-at-heel steps — he’s walking now,

laden as the Moon, as pendulum sways,

nearing the edge of depths…

 

Hiding in the corner of nature is Hope,

while over the meadow of the Mythical Steed,

a Star is falling and falling…


 

Moon Passage

Br. 6

Photo was taken by Nevena Jovanović. Both the photograph and  my poem bellow were showcased in Belgrade Poetography Exhibition held in December at Mixer House.


The passing of the soul onto the realm of unknown.

Over the bridge and into the tunnel. New life awaits.

For they are but shadows cut off from the body,

returning still. Reuniting.

The black of the skies doesn’t frighten,

yet the way back is amiss.

When will they understand and fathom

that the moon is the only ticket out of here?