Wild Rose

Poem By Walter W. Safar

The wind is quiet, wearily quiet this evening,
(and they say that winds do not age)
and I,
I am fondling the wild rose
with the inexplicable hope
that I shall find your tear on its petal.
Since you have gone, many a night has lost its brilliance,
and they tiredly walk my dark paths,
as if they grew old too,
just like our memories.
Those wonderful young nights
- in which we used to look at turquoise nets
woven by singing crickets during silky nights -
now they became completely tired and dark,
and they aimlessly wander my dark paths.
The wild rose's petals have long since stopped dancing,
because the wind no longer touches them.
They say that winds do not age,
perhaps not the desert winds,
but the cemetery winds certainly age and die
along with people and flowers.
It is so quiet and dark
in nights without you.
Everything died inside me
apart from the hope
that I shall see your tear on the trembling face of the wild rose,
the same tear
that was conceived in your dear, warm eyes
when I first kissed you.
How the night shone, how the wind was singing youthfully,
and the rose pensively sighed
when your tear slid onto it.
But now, everything is so quiet and dark,
and that wild rose
you used to fondle during storms,
like a lost child,
is perfectly quiet now,
perfectly abandoned.
Our wonderful young nights
grew old amidst our aimless wanderings,
just like I did.
The wind is so quiet this evening, so tiredly weak,
it pushes the night along my dark paths like a tired old man,
and I,
I am courting death like an aged old man,
because I know the end is near,
that our young nights shall become older with each new day,
and that your wild rose shall fade and completely disappear.

Comments about Wild Rose

(I shall see your tear on the trembling face of the wild rose, the same tear that was conceived in your dear, warm eyes when I first kissed you.) Beautiful work, much enjoyed!
With those wonderful young nights! ! Nice piece of work. Thanks for sharing.
The poetry about the wild rose and its decay represents the life itself that I think, and this poem is a little philosophical one in my thoughts.


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of SAFAR

The Boy With The Sunny Smile

When the winds die down in the shadow of the small town church
To rest their restless screaming spirit
In the arms of melodious bars of the angelic music of „Holy Night".
Then, the whirlwind of wonderful feelings pervades everything,

My Friend

In a dreamlit night, I looked at a star
Like a bird without a flock.
I do not want to call solitude
What it is,

If I Could Fly Like A Bird

If I could fly like a bird,
I would make a nest atop the highest mountain,
To sing to people about patriotism -
Find your home

Ode To Nature

I'm looking at the starlit sky,
I'm looking at the timeless heavenly plough land,
Along which the Father sows the seed of eternal light.
I'm looking at the falling star,

Conscience

Our conscience,
Like an old fragile pilgrim,
Is in search of the holy land within mankind's soul,
Because everything is transient,

A Poem To Mother Marija

As recently as yesterday, my mother lived,
As recently as yesterday, the northern wind
Whispered to my mother brotherly
Of its thousand years of wandering and solitude,