BERIBBONED

 

Words come, like this

and you simply enjoy their taste even if

you are not really sure of what they mean.

And do not find them in the dictionary.

Beloved ghosts, beloved ribbons.

They give you an image, almost

for the hell of it, almost

shrugging their shoulders,

through the enduring

babbling bubbles of syllables.

Then the image can just

fly away, they don’t mind.

In the wind, in the wind-

they laugh and sigh.

Words you have repeated

for ages and in between stages,

first as a child, when they settled

in the interstices of days and skies,

and seasons. They still ring,

become at one with the texture

of your own smile in things.

Mantras in life’s stanzas,

with no consistence

and no consequence,

shiny maybe just for this.

They have always made you

feel both foolish and divine,

brandishing the illusion,

the beribboned flashing of life.