RENAISSANCE

The cold winds of the North blow
fiercely over the dry words scattered
in my memory; like autumn leaves
they spin around, trying in vain to find
a new niche to hide for one more day

They still bear the colors of life
the red shines like a Christmas candle
in the dark night of Bethlehem
the saffron mutes the scriptures
with the Om of a forced meditation

There is no return: one season past
one season new, soon the white mantle
of winter's snow will atone for
the good and the bad
until the renaissance of another spring
whispers to the heartbeat of the earth
the calligraphy of life to be written anew

Copyrighted Rahman,Brigitte Arlette-2000