Autumn Love

cuddle

Sometimes, we feel time passing us by,
Stuck in a rot, like having a picnic and seeing
The grasses around you grow. When time becomes
A tick, an echo, a tangibility, you need to look beneath you
At the soul’s mirror. Are you the man who germinated
From the seed of a dream?

Time, slows us down, like when you have no place to go
And home is a clockwork utensil, where sands
Disappear from top to bottom. You then go and turn
It the other way. Sex is as mechanical as a screwdriver
Screwing in a little screw or a piston going up and down.
We still make it into star matter. Stars have that habit
Of swindling the body to feel a few centigrades higher
And a few lux brighter.

And time, makes us mercenaries of unlapsed time.
We form legions and make soldiers of fortune with our bodies.
We sleep to feel alive, like when another human being
Combusts on your embankment, as we sleep
To the lullabies of percussion and string. Forces and finesse.

And time, is the trapping that we all fear. Ashes are found
Inside mental urns, when dreams have turned in to little grey pieces
Of burnt material. Then only we become petrified
Of the greatest sacrifice one can ever do. Living life shorter
Than the dream dimension dictates.

In that moment, we let go. We become eloping kites in the sky
Searching for a stranger’s touch, an unfamiliar memory.
And unfamiliar memories are like the pearls
Without an oyster shell. They were always in front of your eyes
And only now, at the verge of becoming ashes, did one jump
To the deep end of where it mattered.

What counts most in life are the epiphanies
That knock you down, and give you a countdown
To make it real. They are the most precious, because
Without them, you’re a wasted existence, not knowing
The bearings or the barometers of the heart.

And that epiphany in autumn is as precious
As the liaison in spring. The only difference being
You’re underwater before you know you’ve waded in.                                                                           And the depths are always deeper than the heart measures and the distance between two hearts is always much closer than flesh in combustion.

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Author: meandererworld (Dilantha Gunawardana)

Dr Dilantha Gunawardana is a molecular biologist who graduated from the University of Melbourne. He moonlights as a poet. His poems have been accepted/published in Forage, American Journal of Poetry, Kitaab, Eastlit and Ravens Perch. He mixes science with poetry for a living, when what matters is the expression of both DNA and words into something serendipitous. Although an Australian citizen, Dilantha is domiciled in Sri Lanka, his country of birth.

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