There is a home calling!

It’s dark enough to close my eyes
And listen not to this world around.
What I can hear is just a distant echo;
A chorus with hymns from childhood,
And the days filled with innocence.

There is a home other side of this river
From where I belong and was born.
I see apparitions there that shiver
As have grown old and are in need
Of a shoulder strong to rest upon.

In dark I listen to the loved lullabies
My mother sung on summer nights,
And the warmth of winter evenings
That she rendered on the river bank.

But with time’s cruel intention,
Innocence breaks and broods.
And grows old with the shepherd’s tale;
Here is the world on the other side,
Where nothing heals but the memory.

A thinking mind brings misfortune,
And judges nothing but profit;
The world grows older with us
And in us it finds a waning moon.

But there calls the same bird
On the same bough to get back
And restore the glories of our past.
We will not journey together
But on parallel ships with coloured mast
And find enough wind to whack;
And courage to listen to the bard.

There is a home calling!

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The story of Bluebard

Not far away from here
Does a tale survive,
That hymns the summer and winter
Of an adorable love alive.
The bard drooped under the sun
And walked over the uneven earth;
And now is an embodiment in misty morn,
Where no faith will ever be forlorn.

 I will tell you the tale of Bluebard.

In autumn he was born
And in winter did he live.
All else is least seasoned
As the tale is of a man to mourn.
On his birth near the lake
A vision of cobra did it take,
That over water moved to earth.
But the world is more venomous?

Perhaps that day all planets
Stared at what did they make?
Will it be a life full of errors?
Or what attire will it take?
No one ever guessed or gambled
As the sinking star isn’t worth a penny.
As the cold became intense
Green leaves turned pale.
With lifeless form like a tree he stood,
Beside him the way of the world moved,
On which crowded salmons rushed.
Salmons become lifeless on this road.

But in the evenings he was amused
By the mermaid that appeared in mist.
Soon all leaves left the bough
And the tree stood with arms wide open.
Who knew death was about to feast?

While in dark the creature appeared,
The mist got filled with fragrance,
And the water smelt purest love.
Soon the mermaid turned violent
And in the battle ended the romance.

Now that the bard is alone
Longing for that whiteness around,
The winter has ended and lake vanished,
As yawns and yells the greyest hound.
The selfish world never pitied
Not the whitest swans flown
To that unending eternity.

The bard has seen the wraths of time,
But strange it is still in him
That he longs for the mermaid to return.
Now as the sun is harsh and to burn
The roots have gone ashes
But the bough still longs.
The bard being the son of the muses
Kept silent as the crowded way amuses.
Strange it is but true that all lives
Do not end, some remain forever.

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In a season of dismay

In a season of dismay
Mermaid to mermaid speaks
In desolation what counts,
Not the alibi grown from mind
But the patience born with time.
Beside the sea with caracal streak
In an evening filled with silence,
And trees swaying on mad mounts,
There is a brutal storm we will find.

The mermaid will see waves beating
And dying on black and rough rocks.
There is a sky up there casting
A real night with scattered illusions.
There is breeze flowing and meeting
The foams on the shore and flocks
Through the maddening gyre.
There is a puppeteer up above
Who inspires and is in love;
But with strings so discordant
Gets tired of humans and demons,
And harmony becomes a dream.

Freedom is being free from death;
And not clinging in the dying clocks.
A mermaid or an angel’s repertoire
Is not freedom but a broken oath,
The song of an eternal crime choir
Where choristers are amongst us.
To live in peace is a promise made
In heaven not in the breaking earth;
My life leads in that sea of hope
As every moment dreams gallop.

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