Author: Alfred Jacob Mohan
Poetry
OUR LAST WALTZ TO FOLLIA
My heart writhes of pain, in the chilling fire
The fire for which she gathered, tinder
My quill and his ink froze, in the chilling fire
The fire which she gathered for my pyre.
My vellum sits bone-dry, in the chilling fire
Her fire, which burns my voices to cinder
Every fortnight, I see her glistening eyes
Reciting a monotonous sonnet of grey
That sonnet would never ever suffice
In sheathing me from her stagnant voice
As she smothers my final embers of life
As she “graces” me staleness from life’s fray
Her brushed hair, smooth in bronze.
Her florid face, baroque and supple.
Her lips, curled to a fluttering smile
Her gait, silent, steady and subtle
Her eyes, icy daggers skewering my heart
Her fingertips, flames freezing my breathe
I await in void as her hand rests on mine
Glaring the gloaming sky with heavy eyes...
MY BRIDE
Long and Long I waited, endlessly, for you
Far and Far I ventured, maddingly, for you
To the deepest depths of Styx, I damned myself for you
To the paramount peaks of Blue, I ascended high for you
O, my soul! Your radiance bewilders me
I sought for you among the trees
Dressed in majestic silky fleece
I sought for you among the insects
Adorned with ornamental trinkets
I sought for you among the beasts
With your lips purer than priests
I sought for you among the runes
Hair fragranced by jovial Junes
I sought for you among the humans,
For You, I searched the frigid south,
For You, I searched the turbulent north
For You, I searched the scornful west.
For You, I searched the pitiful east
But with mournful tears,
I found you saddened
I found you wounded
I found you chained
I found you condemned
I fo...
THE BROKEN BRIDGE OF OAK
Golda, do you remember the broken bridge of oak?
Lying o’er the river of the east; the broken bridge of oak
Golda, do you remember that Autumn sunset of red?
That sunset, I rested on that cold bed of ambers and red.
The sun was the brightest red of all light
The river kept flowing its gracious paths
From here, I saw your strands of red, fluttering with this zephyr; there
From here, I saw your nimble feet tapping grace, onto my heart; there
From here, I saw your vivid smile widening mine as this azure sky; there
As my cornet, that night, breathes the song of a thousand nights.
Your feet, that night, taps to my heart, a joy of a thousand sights.
As I dipped my feet onto this great river of the east,
I heard your feet lapping this great river of the east
As our feet were lapping this great river of the east.
I felt your fingers on my heart and… mine on yours.