Culacinno

 

(Culacinno – Italian: The ring left on a table from a moist glass)

 

On dried days as these, we say

The Glass is empty -

But is it not a wonder still -

Patterns as in our life, silicate, sparkling

Bedek the holder of our dreams

 

It is still empty, you say

But what stops you from filling it?

With your tears and prayers

With your hopes and promises

Of cooled water on a summer’s day

 

The water – that will always be gone

But look closely, my friend

There’s hearts of moisture

Clinging to the glass

A sheen of mist to hide the truth

 

There’s hues of your carmine lips

That graced the glass not long back

Ridges of your tender finger tips

Imprinted on the glass –

And you still think of emptiness?

 

And even if one day, the glass be taken,

Lost, vanquished, splintered

Look again, a faint trace

Of Culacinno reassure

The heart is filled forever every day…

 

6^th Feb’ 2025