The Household of Arsh

 
I have some sorrows very dear to me. They are personal, and poor at once.
In some moment of rapture I will tenderly place you beside them.
The same emotion with which I hold them close, I will hold you too.


Then, not in neglect or regret, not in pity's tone or duty's veneer,
on some night of spilling moonlight, with deep tenderness
if you touch my sorrows,
that day I will be born again for you.


I will be the cool green shade in your scorching heat.
In endless rainfall I will be a colored umbrella,
on tin roofs I will be a sliver of sulking moon.


I will be the household of your mirror,
the half-built home of separation's ache.


And sometimes I will be the secret tears of sighs in a heart that hurts.
In your busy life I will be the fierce love that waits, standing still.


Will you be a fragment of sorrow gathering shells on my seashore?