Spring. . .

last night
we spoke in hushed tones;
words irrelevant
falling intermittently
on our ears
with silence an interlude
devouring words
we wish to hear
the most.
I puckered my lips
and kissed
your flushing cheeks;
your lips broke into a smile
and my world within bloomed
like zephyr on a muggy day,
like child's smile making mother sway,
like death to terminally suffering,
like breath to one drowning, gasping,
like Sufi chants to a mystic,
like chiseled prose to a critic,
like thoughts to a brooding scholar,
like discontent to one who cribs, holler,
like power to those who wield it,
like spring's outbreak on a snow laden field.

© Dan Husain
February 17, 2005