One Utopian Afternoon

I sit by the steaming coffeepot and
await the afternoon to arrive.
Mind immersed in musings.
Heart beating in anticipation.
Desirous fingers entwining the
sleek strands of hair.
Lips uttering aphonic words.

It’s one past thirty post meridiem.
Time to start.
I amble down the street as the
cold autumn breeze rests against my face
and fingers my hair.
I observe the dry, orange leaves crepitating beneath my perturbed footsteps.
The glaring rays of sun evoke the absurdity of my reveries- the jim-jams and euphoria,
diffidence and aplomb.

I savvy that I’ve strolled past my destination.
I cognize that my senses
constively reside in this frame today.

I swivel, proceed with a tingle in my heart and reach my terminus.
A fetching and decent cottage set amidst the
vivid, green and velvety bed of grass.
A mellow stable stands accross
from the unostentatious abode.
I make my way through the fleecy grass.
A stirring knock on the door and
a known face stands accross from me.
I am invited in with a humble and
welcoming smile for a cup of coffee.

I sit facing him and leisurely sip my coffee from the hot porcelain mug that
I hold in my hand.
The cottage room lives with panache.
Classic paintings by
da Vinci, Renoir and Monet
layer the grandeur walls.
The unruffled wooden bookshelf
stands with vanity behind him.
He rises and pulls out
‘Ruslan and Lyudmila’
from the shelf.
“But there are other wizards,
Which I hate:
Smile, eyes blue
And the voice of my dear – of friends!
Do not believe them: they are evil!
Dread, imitating me,
Their intoxicating poison
And rest in silence.”
As the suave words seep out of his mouth,
I listen in quietude and incredulity.
My mind sways with the rhythm of the
eloquent movement of his lips.
His reverberating and urbane texture of voice
resonates within my soul and sends
ripples of pleasure through my body.

We read each other poems by
Frost and Dickinson,
Rumi and Sepehri,
Baudelaire and Rimbaud.
The impaling rays of sun
occupy the room with
radiance and ataraxy.
We chew over avant-garde cinemas by
Bakharge and Buñuel.
He seems to be interested in Konchalovksy.
I am intrigued by the works of Varda.
Our distinctions fill the room with
sonorous gusto and titterings.
It’s the third mug of coffee and
the sixth cigarette that I
hold in my hand.
I never perceived how abruptly time flows.

We are art cognoscentes.
The only divergence transpires
when I uncover that he is an artist himself.
I only goggle at and gauge the
august works of art.
It’s beautiful.
His style of holding the brush.
The wide silver ring on his long finger
glints under the sunny rays.
I watch him as he paints the final strokes.
Slick and acuminate strands of
lustrous dark hair
fall on his face.
The soft honey tone of his skin
makes me yearn for a
salubrious touch.
The erudition of the
arrant frown on his face;
the gentle blink of the
green, visionary eyes;
take me into the
depths of his spiritual being.

The painting echoes
Dali’s ‘Sentimental Colloquy’.
It is a degree brighter and more explicit.
As I peruse the work,
I hear a faint melody
playing in the other room.
It’s Schubert.
The most fertile and
original melodist to ever live.
My fingers dance with the melody.
My ears sense his faint chuckle
as he notes my fingers
tapping on the canvas.
We eulogize
Tchaikovsky and Prokofiev,
Handel and Mendelssohn,
Ravi Shankar and Ranadhir Roy.
As his euphonous voice complements
Cortázar’s ‘Beethovens’ Silence’,
I couldn’t help but cognize
how profoundly the curtains are in love
with the setting Sun.
They let the feeble rays
inundate the peach tinted silk.
They dance like they are levitating
as the revivifying wind kisses their body.

In the approaching crepuscule,
the sombre room sits in a hush.
With folded arms,
I brood over time and
it’s implacable game.
The long forgotten perturbed soul
once again knocks
on the door to my conciousness:
“It’s dark. Time to go home.”
As the grand clock ticks uncharitably
and the ancient gramophone plays
Barber’s ‘Adagio for Strings”,
we covetously gaze at one another.

We gaze.
And we gaze…

Penned by alittlesparow

13-02-21