With bold steps and a dreamy face,Van Gogh walked to his sea of yellow wheat.
With a sky of flowers in my mind,
I am drawn to my lake of love.
My kit is much simpler,
A pen, some slips of paper,
A book and a bottle of water.
I will not eat the yellow paint;
I will not be shabby with stains;
I will not cut of my ear without my Gauguin by.
Rather I am Paris eager to take his Helen back.
I stand in a cliff, urged to jump by a voice in the wind.
With no longing for home,
My Calypso is mesmerizing me with her charm.
Standing by the bank of a river,
My nymph is beckoning me amid the water.
You will not have yellow wheat curling up like burning suns.
You will not have sunflowers engulfing you
With yearning from an explosive heart.
But you may have lotuses soothing you to oblivion;
You may have a boat drifting in a sea of uncertainty;
You may have a star raising you up higher and higher.
When you touch it with your hand,
You may vanish without a trace
And all may have to start over again.
Early night, November 21, 2010