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Best Poems From
RANI TURTON
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37.
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Yes, Today I Will Celebrate Life
Yes, today I will celebrate life
Put my cloak of sadness aside.
I, the poet, the wanderer who changed worlds
Crossed seas and sought my destiny.
Mudstained, weary but still reflecting:
Outside the tavern door sits an old man
I ask my way; he points inside
So inside I go to rest and dream.
Today, I will rest from worldly preoccupations.
Today, I will celebrate life.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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38.
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* Draw The Blinds, Time
Draw the blinds, Time
Its time enough and enough
Time to grieve: I do not want
The sun to weighten closed lids;
I do not want the light to numb
My sight; for me, it is yet night.
Draw the blinds, Time
Its time enought and enough
Time to accept and not weep.
There is a calm about intense grief
That frees the spirit; the spirit
That cannot bear anymore.
Now, Time, draw the blinds,
Daylight has come on tiptoe.
Dawn will flicker into day:
And the pain will finally go.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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39.
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* Exist For Me
Exist for me, beloved
In a thousand little ways: when the dawn lights
The eastern sky, when rain slants
Onto city spires. As children walk to school
And comets spin around suns.
The potters spins his wheel,
The artist wields his brush: I can hear
The chords and the keys,
Of strings read to play.
All that is beautiful awakes in my heart
You exist, but only for me.
I will take the blame for this passion.
I will shoulder the guilt and the
Heartsearching if it so becomes
More than necessary. Whatever
This destiny, whatever these dreams
Walk with me, exist for me.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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40.
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A Bowl, A Coin, A Mat
He sat there near the white pillar, waiting
For a coin to dropp into the tin bowl
Dented, indented with hazy souvenirs
He waited on his thick cotton mat for a coin
A glance, a word, whatever came easier.
He wouldn't stoop to asking; he had tried even that
It did not give more. Now that the city was overrun
With networks of beggars that stimulated
Sickness and poverty as a means of earning;
Beggars like him, the real ones
Often didn't even have the protection of the community.
Waves of people pass. the sounds of footsteps,
For many the old man was transparent, invisible
At times a man who should not be there.
A young man came and said, 'Here you are,
Grandfather, ' and a heavy thulk as the coins dropped
Into the waiting bowl. He nodded, and waited
The whole day had to wane. He would sit there
Listening to snatches of conversation, a life
Of which he had no part. As the sun set he would walk
Painfully to his shack, fold his mat
And put his tin bowl and coins away.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Rani Turton
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