Cobalt Blue

By late September, I will be gone, and that

love that wraps us now in warm arms may wither

under the weight of time. I know that as well as you,

even though I hide behind closed eyes.

Gather me close, my dear. For a little while

let me pretend belief in forever, in happily ever

after. After all, such are the fairy tales of love’s

sweet sorcery on which we are raised. That hearts can

stop time together, that distance is powerless.

Green grass and summer sun lie still before us.

One still November night we met, and though I admit it

bitter that less than a single year is to be ours,

let us not waste the seasons we have in

early sorrow. If my next November is to be as blue as

the glasses you once gave me, the memory of

summer will light my rooms, and I will raise a glass to you.


M.A. Mohanraj

April 7, 1996