Amar, Amar by Anton Dolinsky

Some say it sunk into the sea
Some say it never was
I know its history, because
Someone is always cursed
With knowing what will be

When the seagulls twitch
Above the twisting of the sea
I know their voice,
I know their tale,
I am their memory

The reeking swamp,
With silent stones
That will not say a word
Instead will laugh
As I describe
The whisper of the honey-bird

Those I meet disdain to greet
A flower like Amar
They fear what's far
And love what's near
And try to drop in my golden cup
Where I keep the light of the star
A wordly tear
Another year

And still I seek Amar

___

From a Berkeley Publication called Cal Literary Arts Magazine (CLAM).

Courtesy Gautam.. thanks again.

I'm a haunted flower or something.. lol.