SNOW

The snow
falling from the sky
above the dark cities
separating us...
it is thick and fast
covered up all my past
as I stomp on it
underneath that purity lays the silver pavement
and it feels the paces’ of my tired feet
listen;
my naked sycamore tree, orphan leaves’
dark skies do not veil the face of the moon
do listen to the rhythm of my boots, just like yours...
the ocean breeze, islands, cliffs, mountains, flying birds,
this is nothing like mother’s sigh
it’s a whisper to the absent lover
hear;
the heat of my boots
turns the snow into rivers
you and I
fathoming in these shimmering surfaces
and we
become the ocean.

Günsel Djemal 21/12/2009 London