Daniela Oana - Poet and Photographer

Spring

 

You tore down the vines

The green grapes so sweetly plump

Those we’d savour in our wine

That we’d cheer to all those nights

 

You dried out the garden

And let weeds overtake our nest.

All your power let unleashed

Hit like thunder burning crops

 

Such fury your chest held

with such bitterness outlashed

While I fed you grape by grape

Water from my urn to drink

 

You cried at the end of it

With hands clutching your own hair

That I’d stoke so tenderly

Praising every spec of you

 

You were without my arms to nestle in

Or fall into, this time around.

I caught the ground you’ve pushed me to

Mud and worms in both my hands

 

You avenged your own tears

And the entity of unforeseen misery

Blaming me for rising

And start tidying our ravaged garden

 

But outnumbered and too week

You succumbed to your own madness

As I raised my handkerchief,

My white flag to you, poor enemy

 

You spun around and turned your back

To flee away and hide your face

While I waited in our devastated nest

My eyes more so than the wreck itself

 

You’ve since been lost and lone

From losing the battle and me altogether

And I’ve been found shackled by death

After what’s become of us and our Eden

 

But good fortune has emerged

Along your path, beneath my feet

For time has finally been kind

And has brought Spring back to us

 

You lost no battle after all

But a few tears to feed your newfound soil

And the sun tidied the turmoil in my eyes

Feeding the sprouts in my newfound garden