Revival

By Yutka
- 30 reads
Revival
Your birthday in May, such happy month,
breeding apple blossoms
out of the dried brown branches, mixing
sleep and awakening, stirring
tangled roots with spring sun rays.
Winter kept us warm, covering earth
in thoughtless snow, sheltering
dried lives of bulbs and tubers.
Summer grew different, rising
over a light-blue sky in misty strips
with showers of rain as added surprises.
We stopped underneath bridges,
and walked on in sunlight, drank coffee
under the arcades and never tired talking
of Rilke’s symbolism and his fight with his demons.
And up we went to the hills, there you could breathe
and the view from above eased your world vision.
What are those memories that clutch like old roots
to the ivy of pain, submerged partly
yet still climbing out of dead bracken?
You only can guess some of the broken
images, the dead tree that shows you disdain
waving skeletal branches with bony hands-
Underneath rocks, no water, only shadows
around the dried riverbed. Come to me out of
the mist of years gone, with that devastating
smile of yours, those eyes shining with old energies-
I will tell you all what has been unsaid, in a burst
of light, in a heavy sound of wind to swirl up
that dust of so many decades.
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