Do you have a poem for me?
Yes, but it has no words.
It sighs like a leaf of winter, autumn’s golden dust
Summer leaves swept empty.
It has no Chinese characters,
No horsemen riding into the night.
It wakes at dawn, lets the sun in.
The poem I wrote for you is where you fill each blank,
Each crack in the windowsill, each moment with itself.
You live in it, as I do, though we seldom speak about it.
Just as we never talk of the breeze, whispers of trees,
Magic of seasons turning day and night.
This is what I have for you.
–> Amlanjyoti Goswami
“by the light of the lakeside lamp” by Derek Kannemeyer