Illusion
I recognize you in the crowd at a distance
and rush in that direction instantly,
but you are blurring out
like a drop of milk on the water,
leaving only an opaline mist
floating in the hot summer air.
I cannot reach it with my hand,
or soak it into the delicate scarf you gave me,
nor capture your image in the camera;
it is already too late, much too late...
Since we met, you were only an illusion,
a plaything of the thirsty senses,
and though real, but an unattainable being,
unaware of my wishes and desires.
So exist and be my inspiration,
my hope for a miraculous change of fate;
remain forever a sure and creative spark
for me in the crucible of poetic pathos.
Danuta Dagair
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