If Only

If only you were here tonight

I would not feel so all alone.

If I could hear your voice

or the beating of your heart,

my night would pass

in gentle sleep and dreams.

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The Awakening

In the early dawn of happiness
you gave me three kisses
so that I would wake up
to this moment of love

I tried to remember in my heart
what I’d dreamt about
during the night
before I became aware
of this moving
of life

I found my dreams
but the moon took me away
It lifted me up to the firmament
and suspended me there
I saw how my heart had fallen
on your path
singing a song

Between my love and my heart
things were happening which
slowly slowly
made me recall everything

You amuse me with your touch
although I can’t see your hands.
You have kissed me with tenderness
although I haven’t seen your lips
You are hidden from me.

But it is you who keeps me alive

Perhaps the time will come
when you will tire of kisses
I shall be happy
even for insults from you
I only ask that you
keep some attention on me.

Rumi

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As The Wind Blows

As I listen to the wind blow,

softly rustling the leaves

I can hear your voice

as it carries in the air,

waiting there

like the pause before the summer rain.

I am filled with words today,

words that wait

to be heard only by you,

and my heart aches

with familiar longing

that grows stronger

with the sunset.

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The Journal

Last night I sat by candlelight

something magical don’t you think?

The candles shimmered,

their silhouettes dancing

in the shadows.

As I watched the light play

I started writing

a journal for you.

I started from the beginning

describing how it all started

the first time I saw you

what I felt, and didn’t feel

how it grew

and how it surprised me.

I remembered it was then I knew

why nothing had ever felt right,

why everyone else

failed to hold my heart

try as I might to make it work.

There will never be enough words

to say what I need

to make you understand

what it is, and what it is not.

Tonight I will write again

by candlelight

and I will try to capture the words

to fill more pages.

One day perhaps

you will hold this journal

in your hands.

As the words roll over you

I hope you will understand

at least part

of what my heart was trying to say.

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The Butterfly and the Rose

i walk the dream
where the street
breathes in the shadow
of moon-light,
the lovers night.

oh, sweet love
long time coming
longer time whispering
us free.

i sing your eyes
as willows
stretching into
the ever passing winds

i speak the words of my heart
i sing the songs of my dreams
i see in the water
your image
and it’s true…

as i ride the butterfly,
i offer the rose.

W. Jude Aher

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When You Dream

When you dream, do you remember me, or do you dream the dreams of this life alone?

When you sleep do you hear my whispers or do they blend with the sounds of the night air, forgotten on a breeze?

One day I had a dream and I remembered you and now my dreams are of many things, but I can feel you there with me.

I have heard your voice within and without dreams telling me to wait. I will wait there is no doubt, though I wonder how many lifetimes it will take to find you again.

If I told you I missed you would you understand, because I do not know if I will ever understand, but when the sun comes up on days like this, I know that I have missed you for as long as I can remember.

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Wear Something Blue

Some days I find myself frustrated, filled with words I want to say and yet as I write them, I choke on those very words. Perhaps they are not meant to be on the page as someone had once said. Perhaps they are meant to be said to you and you alone. I could fill the pages of an empty journal, journals that would sit covered in dust, their words hidden away from all eyes, including yours. They would wait to be shared one day, when time has passed us by. How sad that feels, something lost, love hidden in the pages of a book, words read by a stranger for whom they were not written.

In truth, there are journals I have written, filled with the first thoughts about a bond I have never been able to explain. I still keep them for the thoughts that I find impossible to put here. The last days have found me struggling to tell you more, to try and capture the words that can explain to you what it is I feel. This struggle has been reflected in my most recent posts.

The last few days have found me surrounded by the strength of that bond, and I wonder how it finds us. Do you feel it too,  or does it pass you by in a shadow, a soft whisper almost heard. As is the way of many things, I suppose I may never know. I will look for you in dreams and listen for the words I find there. As for the waking hours, I will listen there as well.  Wear something blue, and I will know that you are here listening for me as well.

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Longing

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Matthew Arnold

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The Beginning

Last night I started working on something about November. It came to me as I was drifting off the night before and the words wove themselves into something beautiful. As I began to write I became tangled in the words and they unraveled from the splendor they had been on that previous night.

There was a part about the first hint of winter and of a heart so long hidden away. There was another part about the awakening of that heart and words that began to flow from some secret place, words found for the first time. These were not just words about matters of the heart, but words about everything.

Then there was the part about your life and mine, separate lives in this world, but lives that share a powerful connection. I wanted to go through this part and say, somehow, this is enough, if it is all there is to be. I only wish that I could say why. Deep in my heart I have the words.

One day perhaps I will be able to tell you how it all began on autumn day out on a trail. You have, for reasons I may never understand, walked with me through this time and I think you will always be with me. My deepest fear is not being apart from you, but I will not post it here, as it is for you alone to hear.

It may be that one day I will put all of these things in a letter and send them off to you. Maybe it will be one day soon. Perhaps I will even finish the piece on November, poetic and one filled with rhyming verse, something I rarely write. Until then I will continue to post my thoughts of the moment, trying to give you small pieces of what I feel and who you are to me.

“Many Novembers have come and gone, but none so beautiful as one.” It’s a beginning.

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To A Stranger

To a Stranger

Passing stranger! you do not know
How longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking,
Or she I was seeking
(It comes to me as a dream)

I have somewhere surely
Lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other,
Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me,
Were a boy with me or a girl with me,
I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become
not yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes,
face, flesh as we pass,
You take of my beard, breast, hands,
in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you
when I sit alone or wake at night, alone
I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again
I am to see to it that I do not lose you. 

 Walt  Whitman   (1819 – 1892)   

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