meher-baan qadar-daan sahibaan bilok ki peshkash Booooool Baby Bol I still have one poem left. It’s an unpublished poem but it’s in English. I wrote it a few weeks ago to for a friend of a friend’s birthday. Her name’s Jenny, she’s English and she’s gonna be 70 soon. She’s a very caring, energetic person, the kind, who likes to sing at the car and always has a thirst for life. So this is for Jenny and it’s called.. ‘The Alley of Oaks’ Like the voice of a dear friend.. a familiar engine, murmurs in the night and soothes my solitary hours. As I lie in bed watching the headlamps’ light sift, through lace curtains and shapeshift into get-well flowers on the wall. I close my eyes.. and can almost hear katie moss sing the floral dance, when the roadside oaks begin to stir and toss and the wind picks up weaving
through poppy fields. A messenger, searching for you. A gust of air.. finds your hair and we are in your car again, spellbound by the motors plainchant. Our nose pointing toward a well-loved cornish cottage. Can you smell the kelp forests? Fruitless.. Ancient? Do you recall our joy? Your golden retriever’s.. head sticking out of a wound-down window.. flews flapping? The car speeds up and the alley of oaks, with one tree for each year of our lives.. becomes an even emerald. What precious memories it
evokes. Opaque though some may be yet in the wing mirror, objects are closer than they appear. And I can see the you of far away, teaching me to say.. ‘Rhododendron’ as if it were here and now. A shy little butterfly I was my tongue trapped in the nectar of silence. What luck then that your heart is a meadow.. for all the world’s browns and blues, hair streaks and metal marks, skippers and coppers. Today the…forest answers you the way you called into it. Tall and majestic. The oaks ahead stretch far and we slow down. At last almost where we are in a getting-there world. Thank you. A happy Independence Day tomorrow.