Geisha
By marandina
- 2861 reads
Geisha
Where black rain once fell
from laden Eastern skies,
ichor now seeps at sunrise
onto white mountain tops.
In a land of bamboo walls,
sliding doors, silent hearts,
her quiet alabaster beauty,
a face of painted porcelain.
From the House of Okiya,
she walks among blooms,
smile schooled in enigma,
a union only of arcane Art.
Prescient like the lotus,
we breathe in symmetry,
tea served with decorum,
this Paradise of Pagodas.
Butterflies on Mount Fuji,
cherry blossom in Kyoto,
lost sunsets of Hiroshima,
neon dreams of the Orient.
We bow for one, final time,
hands held in supplication,
our sepia past now coloured,
Tokyo tale told in tranquillity.
Image free to use at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherry_blossom#/media/File:Sakura_and_Moss...(%E3%81%95%E3%81%8F%E3%82%89)%E3%81%A8%E8%8A%9D%E6%A1%9C(%E3%81%97%E3%81%B0%E3%81%96%E3%81%8F%E3%82%89).jpg
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You paint a vivid picture of
You paint a vivid picture of tradition, beauty and tranquility in a world far from here. In your verses, I see landscaped gardens and calm waters beneath tiny foot bridges, cherry blossoms pink in the sunlight and the porcelain face of a Geisha, pouring tea in the time worn ritual, gentle in movement and steeped in meaning. A beautiful rendering of Japan with a touch of sorrow for those sunsets lost. Well deserving POW- 
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