colors of the wind

When I first read this poem by Abdul Wahab, I thought, Mm. Some words have the power to leave us in a space beyond their reach.

In between my decorative cover
I laid a lot of colourful words
In red, blue, green and white
In black, sorrow and pain
All the doubts in yellow
I wrote in pink
The nightmares
I went through
In upper case I kept
The fragrance of lofty thought
You taught me
In tight secrecy, the memories
In maroon, in turquoise
The joy I got
Side by side
Along with the moon
Still words are merely words
You can not see
The wounds of the wind
Oozing of the heart
Red blood of the dream
Still unmakes the image
Of the blank space
Left by you
With Big Dash I am only
Able to paint
The sound of
Of emptiness

 

a bit of Bill

This is William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 60, a reflection on magic.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
But sad mortality o’er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out
Against the wrackful siege of batt’ring days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall time’s best jewel from time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
   O, none, unless this miracle have might,
   That in black ink my love may still shine bright.