Waiting
I did not know that one could feel death cold in summer sweat,
as images of you flash lightning fast, the wind remains still and vigils
past the midnight hour, no relief comes from the short rain shower.
But images are not enough when the cold of the night yearns for warmth;
for the bed never used to be this big, the sheets this chilly to one’s touch,
the hours never used to be parched lips waiting to be moistened by your kiss.
If only dealing with feelings was as simple as watching scenes from old movies
where in despair, the heroine can just crumple the letter to throw in the bin,
only to pick it up later and lovingly remove the creases, to be read again.
So as a patient farmer waits for the grains to grow from green stalks
and a mother who calmly expects to see the face of the child in her womb,
I will soothe the sorrow in my breast, till fate deigns for me too, to rest.
12 July 2015
Open Poetry Contest - 6th Place
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
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