Van Gogh and you

Sitting here and talking to you
Is like hearing the mad monkey in the sky
go cackle cackle with laughter
that falls as rain, or the sky’s poetry

seeing your eyes grow large with surprise
like lovelorn moons jilted in their little spheres
is better than watching starry nights move
in that corner of my mind where everything moves

Even you

Everything
the half empty cup of espresso,
your laughter like tinkling glass,
your slowly forming smile at the rain outside –
it doesn’t know why it falls, the rain

The smell of the pages of that book you’ve been reading lies heavy on your eyes,
as the wind whispers of our unfinished conversation that started three weeks ago,
It tells me how a poet went so mad with the fire in his eyes that he had to douse it with
words from his soul grown cold like the scream
It tells me how Van gogh cut off his ear because he couldn’t bear to see a field atremble with the frenzy of spring, without the pain of love and beauty moving
its slow serpent of a deathly blue into his chapped, searching hands
and drenching the landscape with the electricity of life.

You are like his paintings,
solitary firegirl,
surveying the dance of dawn
as it weaves for you
a tapestry of young love,
before a trembling sky

and that is why I love you

because, really,
van gogh did not know
what to do
with so much spring

because
the rain doesn’t
know why it falls

Wheatfield with crows

Wheatfield with crows

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About teevramadhyam

'I became insane with long intervals of horrible sanity' -Poe
This entry was posted in beauty, Could be verse, epiphany, hasi to fasi, Lou, nostalgia and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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