Autumn Majnoon New York
Qais surely must have been
so loved in return that he
is now know, in legend,
as Majnoon, the possessed.
You dream of him tonight as you remember that country of rain, its dripping water,
like her unfurled tresses, slowly freeing you from the stone you had become.
You dream of him tonight as you are poised in a fever of the body, water vanished,
wind turning cold in the avenues, the principality of love withdrawn, eyes hollowed like begging bowls.
You wonder about the miracle that is being possessed. You hunger for it, hunger for love in return,
and a slow dispossession of the self, the way leaves are leaving trees here in New York.
My Poems
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this is wonderful.
e.
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Thanks, E
Majnoon was very much on my mind after a comment made by Anand, somewhere between 10th and 14th Streets, that it is a miracle when two folks can figure things out betwix themselves.
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