The seasons dance their way through the Earth’s cycles
And we are caught in-between changing winters and summers
Hoping for promises of autumn and spring:
The fall and the bloom,
A blanket of leaves and flowers,
The tops of trees on our feet,
A definite beginning from a calculated end.
But this is not what we have.
What we have are grains of sands in our hair
And the burn of an overpresent sun.
We dust off the memories of the Earth from freshly ironed fabrics
and the heat cools in carefully measured room temperatures.
Outside, the wind tells us the truth.
The scent from the scarf will fade in a few degrees,
And the comfort of home will take over the thrill
Of unknown lands and the unfamiliar tropical breeze.
We let it sink in.
Outside, the sun sets invisibly
In a darkness so certain,
We no longer need to see.
We let the night rest on our dreams.
The death of daylight is done, almost,
But unfinished – we chase the dream of auburn sunsets and turquoise seas.
To the east, it will rise
In the absence of autumn, pure
Blue skies and scorching truths,
Unclouded and brave,
The taste of exotic kisses and
Promises to be fulfilled.
In the west, a shadow rises to a different direction
But sways to the tug of a persistent heartbeat,
Mimicking the pulse of lips waiting
For the business to be finished,
For the heat of desire to be eagerly fulfilled.
The cycles of the Earth have changed
Teaching us what is too much and too little,
Too cold or too hot,
Dry and damp and altogether,
What we have done and what we should not.
Doused with a love so timeless,
So eager beyond distance and time
We are and we are not
Yet. But we will become,
What the voice of your eyes desires,
What the next season ushers in,
Another change of weather,
Another movement of the sun
Unpredictable, but exactly
Where our nights and days ought to be.
In the east, the sun rises,
In the west, the light fades,
The days and the nights move after each other
In a seemingly endless, eternal chase.