For Julia, the girl who wept, when I read out Neruda

Yet again in my dreams you tiptoed

As light on feet as angel on wings

Wearing your joy, your polkas, your stilettos

You tread, genteel as key presses of a piano.

Time annexes all we hold dear

Music ebbs as moment go

Our dance of joy slows down

But escape we can't its sticky shadow.

In my dreams you still tip toe

Wearing your joy, your polkas, your stilettos.

What saints can't hold, tyrants forgo

I foolishly preserve like a treasure trove.

As wistful wisteria moments wither

I wish there is still time to live more,

And some time, to let go.

In my dreams you still tip toe

Wearing your joy, your polkas but not your stilettos.

As if you have come to stay.

- For Julia, the girl who wept, when I read out Neruda.

(25^th Sept, 2016 for Julia who rides bicycle in the streets of Cambridge.)