Desert Flower

Many a flower waves
And wastes its sweet perfumes
In desert solitudes
                                     Charles Baudelaire
 
I dream a strange
Colourless post-Apocalypse scene
Concrete walls alone still stand
And hope has fled;
Then awake freezing
Shining sun; shaking, withdrawn,
Down a slippery slope
My pain is death of creation
Bed covers fall over the edge
I might slide into the unknown or
Just find myself lying on the floor
Groping around for comfort
Content to be here still
Although the fog of yesterday’s
Forgetfulness stifles the world’s lungs
I’d stay here until tomorrow –
But your voice is tattooed on my
Eardrums in this ether where we
Both really live. Every empty space
I look to, you might as well stand in,
Sketching flowers which live and breathe
And extract morning dew
Heavy, euphoric perfume
Intoxicates, burns my eyes,
Arouses a thirst and numbs the sense of smell…
Ropes have left my wrists bruised,
Yellowed black and blue, reduced
Me to a fearful, shaking thing
Beneath a slow, barely-there pulse,
My resurrection re-floods
Spring rain, a mirage,
Parched dry Sahel sand
In the middle of which
Finally
A desert flower
Awakens 

                                                                                                       Irina Jauhiainen 2013
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