• maestral 24w

    So far away from Paradise

    I leave this garden
    with the departure of its spring
    I leave behind my cloak
    on the bush of thorns
    that once had roses
    and now has dust

    earth beneath the bushes
    the clay furrows
    the f͟l͟o͟w͟e͟r͟ beds
    departed blossoms don't leave footprints
    nor does their fragrance linger
    into desolation

    somewhere it does not matter
    that my spot was marked here

    closed for an abandonment
    the gate hangs on its hinges

    that bench
    beneath the Gulmohur tree
    where I had waited
    so many afternoons
    so many rambling recitations
    of the impertinent wind

    somewhere in that garden
    there is a stone
    that reads 1943

    it is so f͟a͟r͟ away
    from our Paradise
    as if Spring never had been
    nor gardens lost
    to our drought