From Beatrice with love
Sometimes it makes me wonder why you wrote all that poetry. Who am I to you? Am I a figment of your imagination, an ideal, a mystery or maybe a page that defines your history? In the soft reclining shadow of your absence, I think I can read your mind and why you called me, 'la gloriosa donna della mia mente.' I am surprised that you bestowed on me such divine light, that centuries after centuries, I live trapped in the tips of your fingers that made me immortal, sublime. When I stand near the pillar of stillness, I often wonder what was there in my 'emerald eyes' that stopped time!
When I stare out across the wave of waves, I look inward and wonder all the time. In the silence of the surf and the sea hush, it becomes difficult to find peace of mind. The absolutes of water, the cringing sea line, sound of birds and the deafening roar of the turquoise sky make me wonder why! You thought, this far away, nothing would happen, but if you were to get here, you'd know how different it was from what it seemed. When I saw you at the Arno, I pretended not to see, since we both were ensnared by destiny. The rhythm of love also pounded on my heart, but it had to be concealed and somewhere as I walked alone in a desolate century, I needed to confess, I thought of you time and again, beyond reason, beyond pain. Out here, all darkness, stars overhead and the sound of someone reading your sonnets, down below and calling out my name.
I wrap my empty arms around an unexpected page and see your luminous eyes burn again. I see you walk with a torch, through the deepening gloom of a million years and embrace me again and again. There is nothing in the world that loves you more than me and the knowing rain.
© Jaspreet Mann