Nocturna in D-Mension

To repeat

The same thought

In a crowded place

Which once

Was your mind

To ring the bell

Yet hug yourself

For there is no one around

Before sunrise

To wipe your face

Of the dream

You thought

You had

To look at your feet

As if they were away

Elongating and stretching

To a place you recall

But cannot find its name

In the red phone book

Always in your purse

Where only one phone number

Is kept

To wait, expecting

That from behind the old walnut tree

Your son will come back

Dressed in scents

And rays

From the shore you once left

But, did you leave it for sure?

And you want to be one again

With yourself, and for all times to come

But time has gone by

Yet kept a thought of you

In a frame, yellowed and fragile

As you have become

But often wonder why

Why you left yourself

One August day

On a shore of froth, war and tears

But left for a short while only

Till the Mediterranean finds its blues again

And calls you back
In Jasmin and morning Gardenia

For sure, as promised

That short time,

Dear mother,

Became a lifetime

September 7, 2013

 © Vahé Kazandjian, 2013

I took this picture of a statue in the main cemetery of Buenos Aires, Argentina.