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“A meeting point for poets of all latitudes”
— VĂ­ctor Rodríguez Núñez

Shanta Acharya, from Dreams that Spell the Light


The red-breasted robin projected its greeting
full throated to its mate on the arrival of spring.

The grey squirrel furtively posed for me with her paws
balancing her loot; having already stuffed her jaws.

The frisky dog criss-crossing Highgate Wood
stopped for me as his mistress slowly jogged.

An old pensioner bent with age greeted
me with: Beautiful morning! We smiled,
and briefly stopped to acknowledge the gift.

The laughter of children cascaded upon us like church bells. They space-walked into the golden enclosure,
their play-ground balancing the sun in their voices.

The sky was blue against the startled deep-green of a tall
holly bush in a wood filled with naked, sundrenched trees.

The spirit of the day kept growing upon me:
carpe diem, carpe diem, carpe diem —
whispered the wind through the glass of time.