Marigold

You haunt me.

Swinging by a rope,

stranded, in the month of spring.

Will you bring my name onto your tongue?

These years have emptied this lake,

but the valley will still resonate your voice

and the bitterness of truth

and the humiliating restlessness in the heart

will awaken regret.

I know,

you will remember me.

I was wronged when I was like you.

Still, I wronged you, unknowingly.

We are reminded of our mistakes to the extent of tears,

of innocent days

when all was lost

long before we could know what is right and what was wrong,

when our fears were just not the irrational fears of a child,
but the very ghosts that chased us.

Signal the wrongs in this world.

Now that noise has grown

inside me

and I am surrounded

by the fruits of passion.

Love embraces me.

The valley is lush

and the marigold fills it.

When these words are sung out loud

and you reminded of me,

have heart,

it's made of sleepless nights, of thinking

what will happen if I sing you these words

in the valley, my voice resonating

finds you somewhere on your walk into oblivion.

I, expressing my lament to your ghost

long before you are dead

find myself, after the sun has died

and the moonshine no longer casts it's silver on these hills,
to drape them with moon's blood

in the absence of yet another bloom in the marigold seed.
When the land is barren
and the eyes run dry.