Summer in Japan
Ghazal
Tonight, my beloved is the moon shining over Ameyoko Market.
He tugs my sleeves, pointing towards a fish tank. Koi shes happily
kiss his fingertips when he taps the glass lightly, those very fingertips
that still linger on my palm, tracing his initials when I jokingly asked,
how much does he love me? I like to think he means he loves me just
enough to let himself dissolve within each little wrinkle of my palms.
The shopkeeper thinks we are fools so now we have to buy nine koi fish.
My beloved says nine is a charm yet he forgets we do not have a fish bowl.
Tonight, my beloved is the moon drowning in Shinobazu Pond.
He reaches for my wrist when we are trailing by swan shaped boats.
Swans only mate once, I say. Grief tarnishes even the specimens of love.
He speaks in silence but his soft hold turns secure, confessing his fears.
We sit on a park bench to eat okonomiyaki. He prefers it with shrimps.
A ginger cat rubs its face on his shoe, we watch it chew a bit of yakitori.
He takes out his disposable camera and the cat jumps right into my lap.
Somewhere, a cat is guiding souls through the afterlife. So soft is its head.
Tonight, my beloved is the moon following the last Tokyo Metro.
Our laughs, two hands of a clock. A sweet breeze takes me back to youth.
Second week of summer yet he, a December child, balms my aching heart.
I could fight the heavens for a chance to rest my head longer on his shoulder.
The entire city weaves its dreams. Another train passes before our window.
He hums a tune he says he heard back at his hometown when he was seven.
I admire his small mole. A star mark. An angel must have kissed him there.
I am glad I am here. To venture in tomorrow with a loved one is an honour.
Tonight, my beloved is the moon. I slow down so I can watch his back.
If I trail thirteen strokes of yearning on his spine, will he realise my heart?
His white shirt billows. He waits for me. Tonight, he is ‘love’ in its entirety.
Ghazal is a yearner for gentleness in the stillness of life, nature and art as to love is to perpetually long for.
