Claret Pagoda in the Cerulean River
A slow waltz
In the crimson line
Of the dusk's horizon
Drifts me back
Into the cerulean river
Where I used to glide
In canoes with lovely people
Incarcerating myself;
My thoughts, my squalors,
My despairs, my bliss,
That no soul would understand
In a profound reclusion
That not a single soul
Ever understood.
In a slow waltz
Between my hands
And the grating oars,
And between the paddles
And the sporadic tides,
I have feigned a smile
With the jocund compulsion
As we draw nearer to the sun
But my soul is left ashore
Feigning a lacquer smile
That no soul
Ever understood
In a slow waltz
From five forlorn years
I bid riddance,
For long forlorn!
And we brushed our heels
On the cold river's
Reaching hands
And ferry ourselves
In a claret pagoda
Of grotesque titivations
Of jumbled jewelries
From writings to revelries
Piercing through
The thicket of ignorance
That deemed us back
Into estranged acquaintances
And we go back into
Moving towards the dusk
Only this time,
I am alone
As I spew this robust
Dreams and idyllic spells
[...] Read more
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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