Another Spring.

Time stood still as the meridians of his life perplexed themselves in the bitterness of beauty.

The window by whose side he had 'dreams' once upon a time, boasted those glistening yellow leaves of spring, waiting to invalidate in the beautiful evenings of summer, and just like them he was waiting to perish in the darkness of the lonely evenings with listless thoughts of no importance.

There was beauty at arm’s length and he wanted to swim in it, he had so much time, he was so spoilt with the gift of time.
A friend would accuse him of being a loner- it was every friends’ right.

He would light a joint, and point the table fan towards him, to drive all the holy smoke away, the valid precautions one takes for a secret love.
 Mother could sniff it out, he knew, the secret love and the secret life.

And that’s how he would gaze his days away staring at the blue skies and the green trees, flying in the easterlies of his table fan, dancing in the smell of the holy weed, thinking of all the beautiful songs that he could never write down, thinking of a muse who would die in summer- thinking of her.

Men could think of women that way too,
Like a spring leaf and a lover,
Like some secret beneath a river,
Waiting to be found,
Perhaps with the right words.