Сорок четыре года спустя
Fleeting the moment: enduring the thought,
All love is illusion, yet I find myself caught,
Like a fly in a trap,
Whence there’s no hieing back
To a sky where the blue reeks of sorrow.
O! summer deceiver, you sprang your trap well;
All highways to heaven hide a trapdoor to hell,
Yet I can never forget
How that summer we met
On a shore on the far side of longing.
The flooding of senses made no sense at all;
Ah, would that I could be, held fast in your thrall,
Yet I dare not ask why
When never bluer the sky,
Love struck like the summerstruck Ganges.
© 2013 yizhivika