~
The Tree of Remembrance (for my brother who died before I was born).
~
I forgot.
The tree did not.
~
The tree grew tall above the plot
where I, alone,
ten days old,
and not yet bones
rotted with the leaf mold.
~
With each year I climbed above
through roots and buds and branches.
In leaves I wear a crown of love,
the breeze my soul entrances
~
and now I know
that all we have are chances.
© A.Chakir 2023
From Westgate tower to castle walls
By gentle ways the gradient falls
And all the time you laugh and smile
Bringing pleasure to the mile.
Past little shops and alleyways
We wander on these rainy days
While in the church the choir sings
Of all the joys that Christmas brings.
Turning homeward though square
We stop in cosy cafes there
And by the fire of logs that flame
In winter warmth I’m glad you came
To spend this coldest month with me
And decorate our Christmas tree
With gifts that only you could bring
And secret notes the angels sing
Turn to the left and thrice about.
At the crossroad, by our hill,
he thinks that he can build his house.
Spin a spell and kick him out.
The path we walked so many years
now is shuttered by his door,
where we passed freely long before
His hens wont lay,
his milks turned sour,
he doesn’t understand a thing.
The accursed fellow cut our tree.
It was the favoured of our king.
He won’t be sleeping well again.
No dignity, no saving grace.
He won’t live in liberty
until his final resting place.
His book and candle cannot save
a wretch as foolish as he is.
We’ll be dancing on his grave.
such shadows come and fall on me
from joy to sorrow, like a switch
i fight to turn the light back on
i don’t know where the joy has gone
a single note in some old song
a word not said
a thought unwise
i try to see where i went wrong
the tender sweetness
on a breeze
can turn my heart
and make me freeze
and then i go and sit a while
and lean against a steady tree
and wait to smile again
and see
like the earth we reach for warmth
and the thirsty kiss of rain
all things in nature
are the same
it’s all a mirror of ourselves
dimmed and scratched
things unclear
and things not seen
this constant flow
of dark and light
is just the deep souls day and night
and the turning of the year
if you can put a head to this strange tale
i’d be glad very glad to know it
i fell asleep and saw new eggs
flying with sails and propellers
if they were fragile they didn’t show it
i don’t walk on egg shells
how can i? they’re floating in the air
I didn’t care when i saw them there
there was something strange about it
redolent of sunny smiles
the night before was stranger still
full of piglets, flowers and silversmiths
dancing a quadrille, weaving under arches
as they pranced from place to place
underneath the stables
the first night of these three strange dreams
i saw an oak upon a hill alive with flickering lights
spreading along its branches
it shone against the sky
i felt alive, elated
and then it moved inside of me
illuminating arteries, rooted in my heart
a more beauteous thing i never saw
i sat myself beside my throbbing heart
admiring silver sparkles
if you can put a tale to this strange head
i’d be very glad to know it
i remember every detail but no words that I recall
it makes no sense at all to me
i only wonder if i show it
they danced here yesterday
they dance again today
though you may never see them
they never went away
The magpie perches in a tree
His fellow flies across my view
Static sorrow
Passing joy
when i am fire
i burn away anger
when i am tree
i bend with the wind
when i am water
i wear away stone
and know all the wise ways of flowing
when i am cat
i narrow my eyes
when i am dog
i am joyfully willing
when i am horse
i turn with the wind
this is my freedom in going
when i am hare
magic is mine
when i am raven
i watch still and clear
when i am wolf
i see who you are
this is the seeing of knowing
i will leap, bend and flow,
run, turn and go
return as i please
see what i see
magnetic paths pull above treetops
clouds cap the mountains that hide me
dark cool shadows in water
hidden things amongst leaves
as i make my own journey
i follow these old ways alone
water is a life giving blessing
the trees shelter us, breathing
the lone wolf protects the pack
energy runs with the horse
the world is mirrored in the eye of the raven
hidden, unhidden, bidden, unbidden
the hare runs the path of the circle unbroken
running fleet foot in pastures and hills
on horseback i chase the illusive hare
while the raven sits still in the oak
and watches, waiting for me
i made a long journey
like many before me
i had my fair share
of incidents, mishaps
some were of my own making,
others were simply there,
awaiting the unwary traveller
i learned much of the woods
how to read all the signs
and hear the approach
of the seekers of prey
i had little respect
for robbers and bandits
i had seen all their kind before
i held no vendetta against them
i dislike them neither more, nor less, now
than i did when i took to the road
i had made my own problems too
i wished to be left alone
sometimes yearning for home
it’s true
woods seem full of shadows
but darkness contrasts the light
and lets in the brightness of day
where is gleams through the branches
making clearer the safer way
i came to a clearing and rested
enjoying the peace,
listening to leaves sigh high on a breeze
above in the trees that whispered
if only i could stay
resting here forever
i looked at the paths leading on
it was a beautiful day
i felt some sense of completion
a sharp snap and an echo
the silence was gone
the sound of movement,
coming towards me,
secretly, fast
i felt a moment of panic
caught unaware
as they gathered around
to circle and slay me at last
calming my mind
i looked at the paths
the choices were many
which one should it be
i heard a signal
the voice of a raven
he stood in the sunlight
on a broad ancient branch of a tree
lit against shadow
by a path i instantly knew
it was as i had always imagined
well lit and wide open
it shone out beckoning me
nothing to fear any more
my weariness melted away
i saw i was home
this open wide path
lead straight to the door
where my soul awaited within
so much is shared through migrations
like birds dropping seeds in the garden
some will flourish, some wont
flowers, fruits and weeds
looking back on history
and the incessant weave of the world
i see patterns intertwined, growing
interchange of arts and design
leaves that bud from one tree
the branching of language and speech
a map of where we’ve all been
it says nothing of where we are going
in this we know less than the birds
The Dreaming Path 