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KIrim Pesan
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Send me one more summer
in the hills. Pack it neatly, arrange it so
that opened up the whole of it will spread
across a half a dozen months or more.
Make it full as any picnic basket
packed up tightly with beloved things.
Every day need not be warm. Light rain
should thread, could thread some days
together. Let me spend those summer days
within my own country. A citizen not of
the world but here. In my land, in my place
in or near some town that I have known
or lived in. Perhaps - but dare I ask?
Inside, beside some face or arms
that I have lived within before.
God of our fathers, if you can hear, send
another summer please before I die. The
cold within, without goes on too long. My
great coat has been on the rack just inside
the hall near half a year now. Too long. Too
long for one whose body’s only healed by
shades of summer brown. Pale I am and
ready for another August.
Hurry up and in exchange I will spend
the months till then on my knees in prayer.