Woman in white robe standing in fields of gold wheat

A Thread of Love: I Stood at the Threshold of Life and Death

I stood at the threshold of life and death
My love has fallen like the olive petals at
                                                       autumn’s door-
Her delicate skin pierced by needles of dust in
                                                            the wind.
The earth was prepared to accept her;
the depth of the abyss, to veil her-
But my love is transcendental of time–
For you, I will plant olive trees in the driest land
                                        and in the water of the arid soil,
Should you drink their tears and come
                                                  back to me.
The flowers dance to the wind upon uttering your name.
I know my love is with me.
And when my time has come,
I looked at the jasmines———————they have blossomed.
I knew———————my love has reclaimed what was
                                                                                hers.
My love has whispered my name from the grave.
I looked in the palm of my hand,
and there was a thread crimson red.
I picked the extremity, and the thread grew,
elongated like the longing to my beloved.
I closed my eyes, the sky turned blue—
and death was no more, but traces of lily petals
                                        swirling in the wind.
I built a home, and planted 
     my garden, painted the windows.
The prairie looked peaceful, joyfully,
     adorned with the colours of spring.
     I spent an age and a half in the solitude
          of my soul, with the flowers as my
          companions.
The birds sang———and even the birds had a
     place to rest and a nest to go back to
     ———but I.
                    I had no one. I waited for my love,
faithfully, certainly, like the ending of winter.

          One day, grey and old, I awoke.
          Who was knocking at my door?
          It was beloved———she had arrived.
          I needed not proof to know it was her.
          My soul was shook to its core, my heart shivered.
               I was given a new life by the treading of
          her foot before my doorstep.
I gathered all the spirits I had left in me,
walking slowly to the door.
Time took its time and here I had all eternity,
and the thread appeared once more in the palm of my
                                                                      hand.
It grew as I got closer to the door.
I stood there and time stood still.
All of eternity was suspended in this moment.
I opened the door and there was my beloved.
     Wrinkles had adorned her face and hand from
          the long voyage.
But now—she was here—all did not matter.
The thread from her hand binded with mine,
and from crimson red turned gold the colour
          of the sun.
     I looked into her eyes,
     my skin turned like that of a newborn.
     My beloved had stored all the youth in herself,
     for the moment we meet again.
What is this thread of fate that returned our
          love, our youth, our yearning?
Enveloping us as we crossed together, forever, into eternity.

                                        —R.