Tuesday, April 12, 2011

POEM: El Dorado

To be completely honest with you all I have no idea what this is. A poem? A description? A story? I don't know. I tried making it into a poem but...well, this is the result. All I knew was I had to write it down before the feeling left. It could do with some editing, but maybe later; when I'm not too busy. Constructive criticism very much appreciated, if you have time to spare.

Dedicated to Farra.

Read the poem itself after the break.

El Dorado

Close your eyes, sweetie, and
Imagine this:

We’re in my car, as usual,
as we always were when I got lost.
All around is grey, and the day overcast; it's raining.
Grey clouds roll in time to the rains drumming
on the windshield and windows.
Your feet are wet and grit and sand
have made their way between your toes.
The wind howls, and the trees bend and sway
the way the rain falls, through a wall of grey

You really can’t see anything through the windshield.

It's bitingly cold.

One twenty an hour, through the grey
we see a short rise in the way.
The windows and windshield and roof
withstand the battery of water but admit
white and yellow and amber and red
headlights and turn signals and tail lights.
The only colours in the world.
We climb up the rise in grey solitude.

Suddenly, light.

It creeps up from the hill like a thief in the night.
It lights up our faces and suddenly, everything
is bright.
Gone are the grey and withered are the walls
that were around us just moments ago.
Slowly the sunset slips past the steep rise
And slowly all is turned from gloom and grey
to gold and glimmer.
The light passes through the wet windshield
building a beautiful sheen of bright gold
where grey walls once stood.
The lake to our right has been frozen.
Raindrops turn its dark surface into spikes
and the wind raises white ridges
making the whole lake look
solid enough to stand on
Constant, instead of constantly changing.
The sunset light swoops down on it
and turns the lake into gold.
An expanse of shimmering brightness.
The road itself, rippling from the rain
reflect the radiant rays off of
its drenched and dripping surface
so that it seems paved in gold.

All around us, alchemy transforms the torrent.

Now imagine this.

I turn to my left, and say,
'Look sweetie, isn't it beautiful'?

But you're not there.

By Hafiz Tajuddin with No comments


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