By Abhijay Gupta

At age twenty seven man tur­ns around
To look through the abyss
Back at the beginning.
Left at the mercy of his own inadequate wisdom,
Left awoken from the dreams of perfect loving,
The world seems a string of impossibilities once again.
Orion rises, the clouds clear.

Far far away there is silence.
Far far away the first blue leaf of spring
Shivers on the first black branch of twilight.
“Something has died” whispers the first white jasmine
Unfurling in the moonlight.
The first drop of dew
Rolls off a blade of grass.

Far far away I thought of a lover.
We roamed the labyrinthine palaces of wisdom;
Chasing sweetest dreams of grand revolutions
In the battlefields of Elysium.
When looking over a secret cliff
We forgot what we saw
Near the naked horizon
But still remembered the feeling.
We scaled the gates of Eden
And peeped through the crack of evening’s purple
At the heart of Matter.
But as these last grey leaves shiver
On the last black branch,
“Something has died” whispers the jasmine
Unfurling in the moonlight.

At age twenty seven man turns around
To look life straight in the eye for the first time.
Rain pours incessant over his neon wilderness.
Stoned and drunk now, he raises concrete swords to the sky,
And howls for a last bright midnight.
Deep within the belly of the beast
Between damp walls of memory
Flickering in the halogen glow
Love is stillborn
And wine overflows.
“Something has died” whispers the jasmine
Unfurling in the moonlight.

On these solitary nights of stillness
That I spend alone painting
Ghost stories on my bedroom wall,
Thoughts of you are dervish whirls
In the empty halls of my mind.
You smell of sudden summer rain
And your eyes hide the mist you stole from the mountains.
You lean against my garden window
And say “It’s too late for that fantasy.”
Your hair curls around your ear like an afterthought;
While I measure the infinity of my solitude.

You who would love me,
Did you see the clouds part,
Pouring moonlight and wisdom into the hearts
Of those who wait the night?
Outside your window fireflies are born
Their lives lived out in a single flight
From the end of night
Into the arms of dawn.
And did you know
They speak in light,
Love and learn,
Live and die,
Careful not to stir you
From your deepest sleep?

At the age of twenty seven
man understands loving
To be greater than love,
And love to be a fragile flame
That flickers helpless
From the end of night
Into the arms of dawn.
At the age of twenty seven man is left
At the mercy of his mind
That recoils from every thought
That has been thought before.
Far away the jasmine whispers,
“The dawn is coming,
And he hasn’t found his lover.”

At the age of twenty seven man writes a poem
To the woman leaning at his garden window:
Come to my desert at twilight
We’ll gather clouds at twilight
We’ll steal the wisdom of the rain
And together wait the night.

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