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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471488" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Segments Of A Circle</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stained-glass sky flounces and shatters<br>As the wonder of the night scintillates<br>Upon the sleeping skin of a promenade<br>In the circlet roads of a silent ballet</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Light perched foots steps trample upon<br>The maladroit blotches of the porch lights<br>And beneath the maw of the waxing moon<br>Was the silhouette of a gaudy woman</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She would always be the same woman<br>In her sapid vagueness, no peculiarities<br>No sobriquets, no facades, no niceties; <br>A plummeting ballet herself</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She is always in the equipoise of my eyelids<br>At the beginning and end of rainy days<br>Quaffing the gray sketches of the atmosphere<br>Riding the blue winds of tranquilized euphoria<br> <br>She is always out there like the chirps of a sparrow<br>Whenever the moon laze in her eiderdown couch<br>She would be leaning effulgently to kiss the stars<br>That incinerates with her enigma</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes she would be tender like a conch's whisper<br>A surging lullaby standing by the bedpost<br>Crooning in the veranda and the breaking tides<br>In harmony with the sirens' song</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes she would be a nightmare<br>A phantom crumpling every reverie<br>A pristine picture clawed by dementia<br>Pinned into the frangible ceiling</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The nostalgia slumbering in her brittle bones, <br>The wonder combing her coal tresses, <br>And the buoyant nights in her screaming palms<br>Sometimes, I think I know this woman</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Before the sun rise and set in the roof beams<br>I do try to cipher her riddling phantasm<br>A void silhouette with a potent effect<br>A salient ballet injured in a pirouette</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Time after time, a voice behind the blear<br>Would wake me from this saccharine dream<br>Before the steely teeth of veracity would notch<br>And spray the poison in a treacle cup</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And how many times have I denied—<br>Seeing you beneath the eaves of daylight<br>Without the mystery but still in anonymity<br>With the same nostalgia inside the nattering bones? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How many times have I seen you—<br>Your face elucidated by the hands of dawn<br>Your name flowing out of my derided lips<br>And sometimes, in my nacreous eyes? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I think I know this woman of sometimes<br>The flakes of her grandiosity and her horrors<br>Perched upon the equipoise of a cycle<br>In undisruptive segments of a circle</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sometimes, I think I know this circle<br>Thousand falcate roads for a ceaseless rat race<br>That never ends owed to the unstable segments<br>Alluring for ecstasy, calling for quietus.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Norman+Santos">Norman Santos</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471488" data-title="Segments Of A Circle de Norman Santos" data-description="The stained-glass sky flounces and shatters
As the wonder of the night scintillates
Upon the sleeping skin of a promenade
In the circlet roads of a silent ballet

Light perched foots steps trample upon
The maladroit blotches of the porch lights
An..."></div>
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