Poems By Arjava

East Of The Rising Sun

BUT I would go far out to the east of the rising sun

Where morning's dove-grey mists from emptiness are spun

And Silence hears its echo and Night in a looking-glass

Sees the unlit shadows of Day hood stealthily come to pass.

Bright were the colours of earth dawn, emptily gay and bright:

But my lips ever craved for the goblet brimmed with the lack of light.

Nesh and green were the wood ways, rhythm-curved at the beck of Time:

Bound for the stir less axle, up the time-quelling steep I would climb.

September 19, 1935.