10/11/2021
The parched shrivel of auburn, lurid, and carmine would flake under my heel
As an early forests breath would breathe gently into my soul,
Caressing my skin with an intoxicating linger
That soothed a heaviness often not recognized.
Through the sweeping brumes,
Freshly scented of rain and risen of damp soil,
Taking detail in notice of every dewdrop that brought the green alive,
Alleviating.
Aware yet so naively lost,
By the litters of leaf and seas of bracken,
Traversing the same winding paths of heart and wild
That provides excitements undifferentiated from the first steps laid low.
Thinning slits of umber dancing between the spindles of elms
And occasional mand maple yonder thereof the towering pines
Carrying the horizon, peaceful and calm and still but free.
The delicate crisp of morning infiltrating heavy lungs,
Spreading them wide and filling them with honey lighter than air.
Even clothed, kissing every crease of body
With negligent, blurry, liberation.
I am home upon paths unknown,
For it is the thrill of being carelessly in sync with the world
That revives my soul and cures the ill in consciousness.
Is it unnatural to fall in love with nature?
Baring of no tongue yet sound of such enchantingly spoken silence.
The winds are my lullaby and the rain is my revelation.
So I ask then are the skies and stars bearing of eyes?
For they peak between the wilt of cloud and gently
Burry their radiant rays within the parts of me unseen.
And I ponder deep within the dark of heart
And query and inquire and wonder,
do brooks of low and meadows of wide
And peaks of snow and woods of vast, hold ears?
For how then do they hear every word unsaid
And every thought restrained and every fit subdued?
For how is it without speaking that they listen and without words, they relieve?
How does that of which unaware, unconscious,
Discreet but expressive,
Unmoving yet motioned,
Respond, nurture, and care without response?
Do you blame me for falling in love with a lover that loves all and exists always?
Speaks without speaking,
Hears without hearing,
Loves without loving,
And sees without seeing?
Do you deem it unnatural to fall in love with nature?
The parched shrivel of auburn, lurid, and carmine have flaked under my heel once more,
Reminding of a forest’s early breath
That has breathed gently into my soul,
Making apparent the heaviness it soothes with a careless linger.
The parched shrivel of auburn, lurid, and carmine would flake under my heel
As an early forests breath would breathe gently into my soul,
Caressing my skin with an intoxicating linger
That soothed a heaviness often not recognized.
Through the sweeping brumes,
Freshly scented of rain and risen of damp soil,
Taking detail in notice of every dewdrop that brought the green alive,
Alleviating.
Aware yet so naively lost,
By the litters of leaf and seas of bracken,
Traversing the same winding paths of heart and wild
That provides excitements undifferentiated from the first steps laid low.
Thinning slits of umber dancing between the spindles of elms
And occasional mand maple yonder thereof the towering pines
Carrying the horizon, peaceful and calm and still but free.
The delicate crisp of morning infiltrating heavy lungs,
Spreading them wide and filling them with honey lighter than air.
Even clothed, kissing every crease of body
With negligent, blurry, liberation.
I am home upon paths unknown,
For it is the thrill of being carelessly in sync with the world
That revives my soul and cures the ill in consciousness.
Is it unnatural to fall in love with nature?
Baring of no tongue yet sound of such enchantingly spoken silence.
The winds are my lullaby and the rain is my revelation.
So I ask then are the skies and stars bearing of eyes?
For they peak between the wilt of cloud and gently
Burry their radiant rays within the parts of me unseen.
And I ponder deep within the dark of heart
And query and inquire and wonder,
do brooks of low and meadows of wide
And peaks of snow and woods of vast, hold ears?
For how then do they hear every word unsaid
And every thought restrained and every fit subdued?
For how is it without speaking that they listen and without words, they relieve?
How does that of which unaware, unconscious,
Discreet but expressive,
Unmoving yet motioned,
Respond, nurture, and care without response?
Do you blame me for falling in love with a lover that loves all and exists always?
Speaks without speaking,
Hears without hearing,
Loves without loving,
And sees without seeing?
Do you deem it unnatural to fall in love with nature?
The parched shrivel of auburn, lurid, and carmine have flaked under my heel once more,
Reminding of a forest’s early breath
That has breathed gently into my soul,
Making apparent the heaviness it soothes with a careless linger.
Isa Ul-Hassan
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