Tuesday, June 18, 2002

 
Soft lights in amber caress the shades
Laughter flits in the cedar-scented air
While the touch of down flows
Across the mellow stream.

A woman, Yora by name,
Comes home to the hearth.
She sits in black by the fire,
Pictures in flame flashing in her eyes;
A boy with a kite flying high,
A girl running, dragging a rag-doll by the hand,
An old man sitting upon a ragged corner, a smile
Upon his face in rigid pride.

A reveling dream begins upon the eve of yesterday and pushes forward.
Time dwindles into eternity and the moment falls away.
The rush of the wind brushes the strings of a guitar
And songs fly across the stars…

The waters rise on high,
Hands come down, and
Torrents of color give way.
Surrendered freedom knows
That the voices of resistance
Will come again: ’My life,
Our lives!’ comes the shout
And the dream shifts…

James posted this at 10:48 PM.