Memories That Have Never Been Mine

Image by Pham Trung Kien from Pixabay

Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh, then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me

William Wordsworth

I lean against the cold frosted glass
High above the City of Dreams
And long for dewy velvet grass’
Caress against my feet

For the soft, wet earth of wide green fields
My toes have never sunk in,
The harmonious chirps of feather-lings
In trees, I’ve never seen;

Lush summits draped in fallen leaves
Of hills, I’ve never climbed,
For rushing creeks, with waters deep
Of whom I’ve never imbibed;

For mingled scents of swaying blooms
In valleys, I’ve never beheld,
Of roaring seas, their high blue peaks
A thirst I’ve never quelled;

I stand high in my tower of steel
And for the thousandth time,
My heart aches for what never was
Memories that have never been mine

~

Radha