On quiet Sunday afternoons
sitting by myself, cold tea at hand,
A thousand brooding thoughts
Rekindling old embers
Of love long forgotten, lost in the blurry haze of time
My old heart sails the shore at the edge of memory.
What will those words sound like if I speak them now, I wonder
Will my lips still quiver,
Will a tear fall down an eye,
And when my spirit surrenders
To vehement fervour, to unjust fate
Will our only closure be an unsaid goodbye?
You promised that we will still live
In those green fields under summer skies,
Dancing in the soft sunlight of early mornings
When you said the freckles on my skin
Were stars that you drew into constellations.
The sweet taste of your honey dipped words
Still linger on my lips.
And the ache that our parting wrought
I carry through this life and next.
I have known love after you
He came in many clothes, with different faces
I met him in the middle of June, on holidays, at old spots and new places
But somewhere, in maps buried deep in ashes
Of who we used to be
Is a line in red ink that I drew,
Beneath a trail of tears
that always lead to you.
Parts of you, left like bread crumbs on a forsaken path,
In uncharted woods of forgotten time, I find
A mustard sweater, the sound of your laughter,
Teardrops glistening on the brim of your caramel eyes
And then, at the end of the road
I find you
Like you were, all those years before.
This image of you burnt for eternity.
On lonely Sunday evenings,
When the sun, a dying ball of fire, dipping in blood
sinks in the saturated horizon,
The embers of my soul die
A silent death
In the cold, cold night
And I say farewell till I burn again.
Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo, 1937
Source: Google Images. All rights reserved.
Roses & Moss. 