segunda-feira, 17 de junho de 2013

Near-sonnet: one (rose)

[in honor of St. Valentine and Shakespeare — and more.]

From warmest hugs we do desire increase
so that our heart-soul's rose might never die. 
Yet only that which ages does decease — 
our flower-to-fulfill still lives on by. 

But if our heart-soils gave it seeds and roots 
why had such a love-sprout not fully built? 
Precisely 'cause the world had barred its fruits 
and kept this same rose waiting, unfulfilled. 

The worldly obstacles had to be fought, 
still love made plants grow, following it's plan. 
Now life presents love with what it had not; 
and world could not erase what love had then. 
Life only asks for those same roots and seeds — 
the rest, which she denied us, now she feeds. 

Her presents are: increased proximity, 
so we may have the chance to grow desires; 
then, rooms with sun and space and privacy, 
to build our garden far from strangers' eyes; 
and, more, new earth and wind and cycle-time, 
for souls do need some rest to reach their prime. 

Love's petals, that the world could never spoil, 
now whisper yearns of growth, in secrecy — 
they know we're here and free and very close. 

These winds of unfulfillment breathe our soil 
so that, even though others don't yet see, 
our love may grow one ever-living rose.

São Paulo, 03.2013