SNOW, GUITAR, LORCA

The fingers relieve the guitar of its sorrow;
Outside, the snow is slowly melting:
Its coldness has lingered in our hearts for too long.
A frozen song is slowly melting.

In the cellar's candled dark, you pour bottled wine;
Two girls hold hands but one is crying:
Have the crowd's ghosts of smoke flung grey salt in her eyes?
The guitar says the world is crying.

The man utters the sad words that shadow our dreams:
The laments of Lorca are living.
Outside, the town that was wintered is darkening;
Each face is strained with its own living.

The empty bottles of wine are guards of dark glass;
The bar is closed and people leaving;
The ashtrays display their grey gardens of nightmares;
The man with the guitar is leaving.

We say our goodnights on a street crusted with snow;
The world of white has started fading;
Our cold fingers relieve our hearts of their sorrow;
The red wine's warmth is slowly fading.


Peter Thabit Jones © 2010

 

 

 

 



Copyright © Adel Gorgy 2014 Photograph Poem, Matisse and I after Matisse (la Desserte after De Heem)
Cross-Cultural Communications Art & Poetry Series Broadsides # 74

    
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