Thanksgiving

I

The brevity of the book that you hold

To naught but lacking eloquence is due;

If only I had the means to unfold

The libraries of love I feel for you!

For when I scroll the chapter of our time,

As you might read the leaves of this short work,

I find that my verse lacks its inner chime,

And try my disappointed cry to burke.

The hours that formed in our love-chain a link

Are now enclosed within my aching heart,

Inscribed in splendid letters of gold ink,

And sealed so that their lips may never part.

I’d publish hefty volumes on our age,

If my soul I could transcribe to the page.

II

To me you are an ocean, deep and wide;

Indeed, your curly hair puts waves to shame,

Your sweet caresses do eclipse the tide,

And none your noble soul would dare to tame.

Most men, to know your heart, would take a boat,

But I with better vessels am now trained;

To reach your depths one must first cease to float

And dive, to find the treasure, unrestrained.

But as I dove in my own chest I found

A love long felt but long left undeclared,

And knew that I to you am ever bound –

Despite impending split our hearts are paired.

As long as water fills the wondrous sea

Its sight shall stimulate my love for thee.

III

Within the boundless stretch of empty space

Each globe is set to spin around its sun;

How odd, then, that so special is our case:

We dance ’round one another, locked as one.

What’s more, unlike the rest’s, our cores are cold,

And yet with what great splendour shines your light!

Your nature is so radiant and bold;

In truth, the hottest star is half as bright.

The other planets all do envy you,

And none more than the one who bears the name

Of goddess Venus, for all know what’s true:

That her allure is nothing to your fame.

The universe might fill infinity,

But all I want is your vicinity.

IV

Upon the massive worldly stage there are

Too many players, but not many sets;

Each man, in his own life, can go as far

As to enact another’s, which he lets.

But you are the exception to each rule:

Your stride alone can shape the course of fate;

With unmatched elegance as your main tool

You make the whole world rue its sorry state.

And yet your heart is generous and kind:

The road to taste you wish to all to show.

Alas! the rest are doomed to stay behind,

For none but you can such refinement know.

All men are turned to actors by your sight,

But only you remain your life’s playwright.

V

The chronicles of history oft tell

Of famous women who received renown

And yet relied on trinkets for their spell

Lest other beauties steal their valued crown.

But you don’t have to lean on such support;

Regality to you is simplified,

And riches are to you a rude report –

Away from them you wish the world to guide.

Like the Egyptian queen of splendid class,

You keep a priceless gem under your skin,

But she, for glory, drank hers from a glass,

And you have always had yours deep within.

No wreath with you would I dare to compare;

For nothing on this earth is quite as fair.

VI

Mythology is full of faithful pairs

Whose partnership allowed both men to thrive;

Not one with our great symbiosis compares –

To lofty stature we each other drive.

How glad I was to watch your sapling grow,

And witness your soft buds begin to bloom;

Your intellect is now too tall to mow,

And for your canopy there’s hardly room.

My darling epiphyte, my little shoot,

More swiftly than the falcon’s dive you’ve sprung;

Orpheus could not with chants have spurred your root,

Regardless of the songs he would have sung.

In every stunning forest, field, or glade,

The flowers by your dazzling brilliance fade.

VII

At times I found repose between your arms,

And gladly felt the sweet embrace of sleep;

No vigilance can overcome your charms,

Whose arms suffice to topple any keep.

And yet, at other times, I lay alone,

And vainly sought to pass the gates of dreams;

In your glum absence grains of sand aren’t sown,

And Hypnos only follows sunlight beams.

Without you I am left to face the storm,

Which does its best to keep my eyes unshut;

With you no tempest is allowed to form:

The clouds are girt – the heavens they abut.

Our parting’s bound my peace of mind to shake;

The loss of you will keep me long awake.

VIII

If I could on a standard of you boast,

And raise your image on a banner high,

I would then sweep in conquest – coast to coast,

And cause each nation’s army soon to fly.

But now I hesitate, I do confess;

A statue does no justice to your pride,

For even lions envy your prowess

And every creature seeks to stand your side.

Your gentle limbs do bravery manifest

And bring forth the resilience of your mind;

Your very name is worthy of a crest,

But I can’t by your sigil be defined.

I wish that all the world would come and see:

At least for now, your flag flies over me.

IX

King Arthur would have mourned, and rightly so,

Had word of your regality him reached;

To combat he’d have gone to butt and blow

Against your royal fort, which stands unbreached.

But battling with your hold is not correct,

And truly such a tragic effort’s vain –

To bat a battery that’s so erect,

Which endless buttoned soldiers can’t contain.

No czar can such a rich domain annex,

For none can with your majesty compare;

You’re irrefutably the world’s lone rex,

Whose just baton is so sincere and fair.

One truth in life is closed to all debate:

The beating of my heart you regulate!

X

Blind Cupid has been working on his aim,

In hope of swiftly causing utmost harm;

He knows that strength and courage spell your name

And that none are immune to your great charm.

Within my core no longer gapes a void,

Since you have taken place inside my heart;

All trace of gloom you’ve readily destroyed –

I hope none shall return when I depart.

Our courtship’s struck in me a secret chord

According to the burn that runs me through;

My heart its love has made sure to record

So as to know the times we’ve had anew.

Accord and harmony you bring to life;

Your sweet cordiality’s made my chest rife.

XI

How could the sage of Syracuse exclaim

That he had found the key in a clear voice?

No truth is full without the loud acclaim

That’s due to how you make my heart rejoice.

If I could form a council of great seers,

Whose shrewd clairvoyance could defy the gods,

Their clamour would have deafened my poor ears,

And with your clarity remained at odds.

You are the chiaroscuro to my art –

Both light and shade for me you reconcile;

I do declare: I’d choose you from the start

If I were to relive my sorry while.

I wish I could the calendar erase,

So as to gaze forever on your face.

XII

Sometimes, to rest my tired, exhausted eyes,

Which on your gold complexion ever stare,

I turn my face towards the glowing skies

To pause on Sol’s stark, glinting, yellow glare.

For since you’ve come to gleam my sordid life,

And gilded what I thought to be refined,

My glass has been so full and free of strife –

The glittering, bright stars are now aligned.

Your presence is a precious golden gift,

Which puts the glad receiver in a trance;

How melancholy you so quickly lift,

And do so with a glimmer of a glance!

Whenever I do catch a glimpse of you,

My hazy eyes begin to glisten too.

XIII

Illustrious, sad bards of every age

Devoted lucid odes to the clear moon;

Its luminous effect they tried to gauge –

To set its placid rhythm to a tune.

But who would try to foolishly compare

The pallor of dim Luna to your light?

Your lustre is so singular and rare

That of it I just barely dare to write.

Khnum turns to Ra as you illuminate

The skies, which by your being are so warmed,

And as the heavens’ course you illustrate,

To Lucifer cold Vesper is transformed.

I will elucidate, and all agree:

A lunatic without you I will be!

XIV

The words I let my fawning mouth profess –

That pay no tribute to your splendid fame –

Are a profanity, and nothing less;

For such a blasphemy I take full blame.

For like an infant overwhelmed by boons,

A sycophant I am before your spell;

I’d set a fable on your fate to tunes,

If only I had had the means to tell.

Banality is fatal to my cause;

Your symphony I must abandon now.

No praise of mine can grant you full applause;

I’d shout your glory if I just knew how!

A famous anthem you have now become:

I wish that I could sing, and not just hum!

XV

The world’s eternal bard taught of the truth,

Which he had learnt and mastered through his grace;

How wasted were his talents on the youth,

Whose features would have paled before your face.

His fame would have been greater – that I swear –

If you had played a small role in his life;

Had his words borne the gratitude I bear,

No oyster could have thwarted William’s knife.

Imagine how all would congratulate

A poet who could write about your eyes,

Of every gracious aspect of your fate,

Or of the way your presence gratifies.

Had circumstances just agreed with time,

You would have reinvented Shakespeare’s rhyme.

XVI

A sceptic first I was, before I knew

The scope of the great happiness you bring

To all aspects of life within one’s view –

And how my earthbound soul you put to wing.

For when joy comes, it does so as a spy,

And creeps to heart before you do suspect;

No matter how perceptive was my eye:

The lack of you I could not once inspect.

I see now how conspicuous it was:

That spicy dearth that I could not discern;

But since you’ve shaped the meaning of my cause,

For your place in my life I’m bound to yearn.

There is no need to further speculate:

Spectacularity is your rare trait.

XVII

I once was a cadet, and then a chief –

I thought I was the captain of my ways –

But then you sprang like a mischievous thief,

And now, as in a chapel, you I praise.

A dizziness did then usurp my head,

As if I were dealt a corporal blow;

But should I now escape? I think, instead,

That gladly with my chieftain I will go.

Perhaps I’ll be the junior aide to hand

A handkerchief to my life’s toiling chef;

I’d gaily wear your cape or your armband

And cap alternate bids, to which I’m deaf.

My stunning capital you’ll ever be:

A lonely exile I am – short of thee.

XVIII

The endless influx of your blessed smiles

Has caused my fervent blood to gush and boil;

I’m willing to withstand dire blows and trials

To win, from you, one flower for my toil.

Since you have boldly come to swell my bowl,

Whose emptiness had made me full of gloom,

I’ve found the bulk of my then barren soul,

Which your dear, affluent warmth has caused to bloom.

How fluent you’ve become in my odd ways,

And how you’ve been to all my needs a crutch;

I’m glad that you have influenced my days,

And ceased their fluctuations with a touch.

Your worth outweighs a boulder made of jewels,

And all who would contend are surly fools.

XIX

When first I came across your wicked charm,

I shuddered at the thought that you’re a witch;

I thought that I’d be blasted to a farm,

To wake as a poor worm in hedge or ditch.

You have enchanted me with a weird verse,

But might have then cast me to the cold gale

Or with a mascot thrown at me a curse

To turn me through bewitchment to a snail.

How glad I am to be spared that ordeal,

To know your magic only through your love,

And to repay with an apprentice’s zeal,

Which to my frigid hand is a warm glove.

Your sorcery to you forever ties;

To break from your sweet spell would be unwise.

XX

I fear that soon my loving monologue

Will to a sad soliloquy be turned;

Without you I’ll lay drifting like a log

On deep and lonesome waters yet unlearned.

For shortly hence I am doomed to become

A lonely sum from zero once removed,

And as my troubled soul I try to plumb

My mind is madly by my heart reproved.

I wish that for our split I will atone,

And find some sort of solace when you’re gone;

If only I weren’t to be left alone

To cry until the advent of cruel dawn.

All cheer in life is once more to be won;

Without you I shall ever be but one.

XXI

Not once I’ve felt, with growing pain and dread,

The steadfast march of that foul devil – time,

Whose every step is like a grip of lead,

Which threats to halt my heart while I yet climb.

But now that march has doubled up its pace,

As if it were so keen to meet a wall;

I wish that I could see him face to face

And pray the beast for me that doom to stall.

The thing that’s brought this change is you, my dear,

Although I know you bear me no ill will,

Your tender hands quicken’d my heart, I fear,

And spent its beat till nearly it turned still.

Alas! to no avail I beg delay;

Both time and hearts you mercilessly sway.

XXII

A second spent can never be regained;

Lost time by no adventurer is found;

Our force of life by death is slowly drained –

Each day we lose at chess another round.

How much more do those losses badly hurt

When moments passed with you are oh so sweet;

I wish that time’s advance would turn inert

Or, better yet, would hastily retreat.

If I could only grab fate by the throat,

And put an end to its accursed reign,

I would then live as all the poets wrote

And spare myself unmitigated pain.

Although our dreaded parting must ensue,

At least I’ve spent my numbered days with you.

XXIII

To live a life of excellence and worth

Is to perfect each aspect of oneself –

A task for which one must toil since one’s birth

To leave, perhaps, some poems on a shelf.

But summers tend to change, and so does man,

Whose timely versions with the swallows pass;

One dies so many deaths in one’s lifespan,

And resurrects, though changed, in the same mass.

The person I’ve become by your effect

Suits best the inner workings of my mind;

As on our lovely season I reflect,

I wish immutability to find.

I see no remedy in my eye’s view:

If to be changed, at least to change through you.

XXIV

Unless fleet Anteros resolves to come,

And my distressing wound elects to heal,

I’ll surely turn anhedonic and numb –

Only acute nostalgia I will feel.

But who can coax a sly Erote to show

When Chronos issues adamant decrees?

No force is able his will to forego;

None can more than the present hope to seize.

For Time designs to cut our love’s span short,

As he once chose to clip poor Cupid’s wings;

To happiness he keeps a sharp retort,

Which in its object’s ear forever rings.

A lover’s anguish I shall ever ache,

Until I drink from Lethe’s bitter lake.

XXV

The chariot of Time has planned its course

Without once asking whether I concur,

And charges with a harsh, relentless force;

What have I done to such a wrath incur?

Brought forth by currents none hopes to withstand,

Indeed, the worst of tragedies occurs;

Had fate’s fierce car been tamed and aptly manned,

Perhaps mankind could march as it prefers.

I wish that I could carry you with me

Through the tight corridors of my career,

But one can’t make the devil learn one’s plea

For fiends to discourse don’t tend to adhere.

The currency my judgment values most

Is every act to which you are a host.

XXVI

The gods, indeed, were so humanely cruel

When Hope they left inside Pandora’s box;

They feed a hellish fire to life’s keen fuel –

An inverse joke that them with laughter rocks.

Who can withstand her power to allure?

For Elpis outshines Helen in her craft;

To heartache she wants mankind to inure –

Her promises are blown by ruthless draught.

I vainly sought to redirect the grip

Of that covert, sly villain and her schemes,

And yet I feared your happiness to clip

And thence allowed her to invade your dreams.

The only hope that I hold with my arm

Is to avoid inflicting further harm.

XXVII

As through the waters of Messina’s strait,

Which gush and fiercely rage from side to side,

These troubling days I’m forced to navigate,

Without the sage Virgil as my close guide.

Which course, to cause less anguish, should I take?

Should I attempt the whirlpool’s bloody jaws?

Or let dread Scylla follow in my wake,

And risk the ghastly touch of her black claws?

For thus I vacillate when I do think

Of the detested break that we must know;

I wish the least to spur you to the brink

Of the high cliffs of hope before I go.

Your cheerful dream I openly would prong,

So as to shun deceit and horrid wrong.

XXVIII

The tension that exists between my head

And every tendon in my aching chest

To my acute new suffering has led –

A hardship that I’m ill equipped to best.

For since you’ve come to take hold of my heart,

And made yourself a tenant in my soul,

Tenacious fits have gripped my every part –

My body can’t retain its vital whole.

The heart, with all its might, tries to extend

A teeming love too tender to contain,

While mind, against its will, does still contend,

So as from a delusion to abstain.

One tenet shall persist within my core:

Without you my internals are at war.

XXIX

Inside my bosom blazes a red flame,

A great inferno by the sun unmatched,

Which threats my burning soul to further maim

Once I from you shall cruelly be detached.

That sanguine flare is fuelled by fiery love,

As well as scorching guilt, for which the cause

Is efforts to prevent, or lack thereof,

The split that would my beating all but pause.

The arson you’ve committed to my heart

Has set my unsuspecting psyche alight;

Where twigs once were, soon embers will take part,

As happiness is smouldered by my flight.

Our farewell shall ignite so hot a pyre

That, verily, my world will end in fire.

XXX

The blasted day has shown its face at last –

The day in which my heart is doubly strung –

For now our time, but not my love, has passed;

At least no verse of mine I’ve left unsung.

If pantheons were in charge of your grand fate

I’d thank those hallowed figures on my knees,

But you alone control your godly gait

And need no abstract idols to appease.

My gratitude to you instead I give

For all the times you filled my life with joy,

For feelings that with me shall ever live,

And for a love that none but you employ.

One thought shall in my heart be ever true:

Until my final breath I’ll cherish you!