Rose Water

Is it you, or is it me
that I see dancing in the water?
A drop of sweat sends tiny ripples
to distant lands dear to us both.
But was it yours, or was it mine?

The scent of roses greets me,
and I’m no longer alone,
accompanied by yesterday’s memories.
Were they real? I dare not ask,
afraid of scratching this soft pearl,
revealing a delicate mirage.

So I invite drowning melodies,
let them take charge under the shadows.
I am floating in emotions,
a captive of the music
following wherever it pulls me
within the confines of a moonlit lake.

It isn’t you, it’s me
I see reflected in the water.
On the surface, Layla,
al-Majnun beneath,
scribbling silent verses
never to be spoken.

But am I Qays?
Or the hidalgo of La Mancha,
making giants out of windmills
to impress a lover
who doesn’t know I care?

I knew you loved me before I loved you,
now I’m not sure you ever did.
Am I a madman
unshackled by rose water?
Or does your smell set reality free?

Eduardo Ramos is a lover of adventures in words, languages, and travel. He spent the first five years of his life in his family’s native Dominican Republic before immigrating to Harlem in New York City. His poetry is forthcoming in Through the Fire Magazine.