Anvil - The Golden Boat.pdf - Inpress Books

No room, no room! The small boat, stacked today
even with my paddy’s gold, is under way.
In the Srabon sky forever
clouds are darkly wheeling over
an empty and deserted river where I sit and stay.
The golden boat took all there was away.
1892
The Guest
Love came and went, and left ajar the door.
No second entrance.
Only one more arrival, one guest more
to make acquaintance.
One day he’ll come in and the lamp extinguish,
carry me far
down the trackway of some wandering homeless
planet and star.
Till then I’ll sit alone, by open door,
work in attendance,
and when the time comes for that one guest more,
there’ll be no hindrance.
One day all the worship-rites I’ll finish –
prepared at last,
I’ll spread my arms and welcome home the homeless,
in silence vast.
The one today who left an open door,
still by the entrance
said, “Dry your eyes, for there is one guest more
to gain admittance.
Finish the weaving, all your work accomplish,
pluck out life’s thorn,
and to your new home carry – you, the homeless –
a wreath newborn.”
1902