The way the islands are wrecked
by tall sky-scrapers, and trees are
barren. The way the shores are polluted
and people die of strange disease, is
the way you have spoken of your sad life.
I stand away from your unreachable parts,
stand away from your heart that bounces
into nature hills of love and beauty;
keep your eyes of passion from mine,
a harvest looked at by labourers.
It’s nights like this when I can watch
you without disturbing the waves;
my eyes are two wings in the belly
of a butterfly, only because I knew
where your tears go to at dawn.
After two years of futureless love,
you have finally come down from
the darkest hill of the city, after
two years look back with sadness
and tears and the broken hearts.
You kiss my eyes with evil anxiety;
you walk over my heart dressed in elegy
and wood; you pass near the word
Death spelled with tuis dying on
tapu ground and walk over me.
Now we come to chance the hours of
time, what is to be done now our hands
have become tired from touching; Alofi
that never felt you, never saw you,
never loved you, never knew you.
You stand between prestige and picked
white flowers. From the Bond of Time
into horses blue as a sexual moon,
I want you to always look upon me,
always, as the sky and ocean.
I had wished you had come from me
but from matter and obstacle it is
unknown things that push with strength,
the beauty of all, the way some
children say, ‘stars everywhere!’
Then something called Eschatology
changed our emotions and colour of
our hearts, as we stood one misty
morning near the ocean, the desire
the solitude gone, gone forever.
From The Bond of Time
Fragrance on Earth Press, Auckland 1985/Pacific Writing Forum, 1998
© John Pule