These are my musings and observations on my daily life, loves and the laughter that are all a part of my experience of living now in the shires of England.

Saturday, 24 September 2011

The Message - poetry by Harold Rhenisch

From the city 
men lead camels
into the shifting sand.
They are watched for hours
from the highest towers
by men in red robes,
until they vanish, tiny,
into the mirroring wall of heat- 
then the watchers cry out
with a long, drawn-out wail of joy
sung deep in the throat.
The travellers have hawks on their wrists
and messages in their pockets.
They are on their way 
to the king.
The message they bring
is a tiny silver box
that when opened in daylight,
as the sand whips in 
off the streets,
contains the sun, and when shut
contains instantaneously
its absence,
which was there before it.
It is the simplest thing in the world,
but also the most inscrutable.
The men let the hawks go free;
the hawks return with empty claws;
while the king is unaware
that a message is on its way
from the world.

Harold Rhenisch (from his collection -The Blue Mouth of Morning)


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