Who's Who in Poetry

                       Sensorially Senseful

If I were to choose a sight for you,
it would be the one of the crepuscule –
                               of light getting dark
                                       and gold turning silver,
                               of what has just been
                                      and it is no longer,
                              of what can still be seen
                                     and soon won’t be,  
                              of definite shapes
                                    turning into intriguing shades,
                              of the ones we’ve been,
                                   gainfully growing a little older.
If I were to choose a taste for you,
it would be the bitter-sweet one
              of the good and not-so-good in a lifetime –
              be it about expectations and outcomes,
                                 dreams and awakenings,
                                 friends and acquaintances....
for you to acknowledge that,
“This is what life is about”,
and gracefully accept the fact
that you can interfere or not.
If I were to choose a smell for you,
it would be that of the freshly baked bread,
                         of the land after rain,
                         of the just-mowed lawn,
                         of the fatigue-wrapped love sweat,
                         of the breast-fed baby at dawn....
                         for you to gratefully cherish
                         those taken-for-granted joys
                         of every day life.
                                                                                            If I were to choose a sound for you, 
                                                                                            it would be the one of the breaking waves,
                                                                                                                      of the crickets in the grass,
                                                                                                                      or the loons on the cliffs,
                                                                                                                      of the birds’ morning song,
                                                                                                                      of the frogs on the pond,   
                                                                                            as, altogether, that would be
                                                                                            an earthly symphony
                                                                                            under the Great Conductor’s baton.

Cecilia Burcescu
Copyright © 2004 by the International Library of Poetry
Published in the anthology Who’s Who in Poetry, 2004
Watermark Press, Owings Mills, USA

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