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The Creeping Mist Shrouds The Voices
(11/26/1971 / New York)

The Creeping Mist Shrouds The Voices

Poem By Eila Mahima Jaipaul

in the cool mist shrouded
silent, as the hour creeps to midnight
I sit alone in the cloud covered night
with the first puffs of smoke
the silence closes in on my ears
and I hear you calling my name
as if there isn't hundreds of miles
of earth between us
faint in my head
I grasp at the voice
but its like trying to touch
whispers with fingers.
you continue to beckon
calling my name
softly echoing the stillness
I can barely move
lest I loose the thin tendril bond
gently you call
and I answer with my heart
yes my love, I am here....

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 2

Comments (2)

'...trying to touch whispers with fingers.' This is a lovely line. The mood in the poem is ethereal. Nice poem, Eila. Raynette
I know this kind of connection is real... Nicely conveyed. Rick


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