Once a wounded turtle dove ground out its pain in a bare poplar
When autumn sunset bid bitter farewells to the lone star
Three black liana lassies trudging homeward swayed to strains:
‘It’s not a second, Seven seconds away, ’ from Africa
One swore she saw the Bard linger by the reedy marshes
‘Just as long as I stay, I’ll be waiting, ’ at her haunches
Where the Préfecture’s tinted glasses ricochet sunset sadness
Where the long low wooden wharfs burst pyrotechnic gushes
Here where her weedy mud periods foul barnacled autumns
Where sharp shafts of icicles shoot shut her twitching bottoms
And in her gripping gash the killing cold relent geothermal
Sweet Nature yet watches over the Maudite Maid of Dungeons
Where the Bard of the lost astral eye keeps vigil in his tent
Astral pebbles skim over her sleek seductive juicy rent
“Ghalatan Ghalatan hami ravad ta bun-i-ku”
No sign of her release at day’s end when autumn’s old and spent
Oh! Stay yet with Ol’ Khayyam! Ye! Dream-tongued Lass of Lahore
Lest he pine waste away let dry poesy’s wine ever more
While the lush Maiden of the Main dreams on for all silver tongues
The stuff of such dreams as stuff universal words into Law!
© T. Wignesan – Paris,2013
T (no first name) Wignesan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ruba-iyat-of-creteil-lake-part-eleven/
