Tag Archives: haunting

Mourning

Frostbitten,
fumbling fingers
and numb hands
seek warmth
and rejuvenation
in crevices; through friction.

Icy air
pierces woolen layers;
suffocating,
strained lungs.

The stars
shed light
on abandoned streets,
skeletal trees.
Earth engulfed
by oppressive silence; deathly sleep.

‘Tis oft said for
a heart that’s dead –
is mourning what it
possesses no more.

I wonder then, what is being mourned by the deadening weather?

I know it’s a little depressing as the first post for the new year. But then, living in freezing temperatures (for the first time!) and reading a book that brings winters to life was too inspiring to not write. 🙂

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Filed under Life at University, Poetry, The world around me

Cohen’s ‘Love Itself’

I think that every once in a while, I shall share a piece that haunts me.

Leonard Cohen amazes me all the frikkin’ time. Everytime I read his poetry, I marvel at his ability to create a visual so striking so as to leave me gawking for the next few hours. And…not only do I gawk, I wonder how he does it and then, envy takes over. Here is a man who’s written things so profound that they make me question if I shall ever be able to even passingly experience anything the way he does. I don’t fool myself into even hoping that I’ll get to dip the tip of my tiny toe into the same stream that he drinks from…but I cannot keep hoping that maybe, just maybe oneday, I might get to see his stream.

Here is one of his works that is a particular favourite.

“Love Itself”

The light came through the window,
Straight from the sun above,
And so inside my little room
There plunged the rays of Love.

In streams of light I clearly saw
The dust you seldom see,
Out of which the Nameless makes
A Name for one like me.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love Itself
Love Itself was gone.

All busy in the sunlight
The flecks did float and dance,
And I was tumbled up with them
In formless circumstance.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love Itself
Love Itself was gone.

Then I came back from where I’d been.
My room, it looked the same –
But there was nothing left between
The Nameless and the Name.

All busy in the sunlight
The flecks did float and dance,
And I was tumbled up with them
In formless circumstance.

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door –
Then Love itself,
Love Itself was gone.
Love Itself was gone.

Hear it here.

And it really doesn’t hurt that he has this perfect voice and that he sings his poetry out.

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Filed under Poems I like