TWO POEMS BY ROWLEY HABIB

RETROSPECT Sometimes in the quiet of night I walk again beneath the silent trees And feel the road beneath me soft Where the sun in all its length had never touched Upon me; then rain all those wholesome smells, Enwrapping my being in a scented sweetness Till the strength of my present leaves me And I am stilled inside. I see myself again, A child, with lowered head Walking quietly beneath some reaching pine-trees.

WRITTEN IN A BOARDING HOUSE IN CHRISTCHURCH That a loneliness has driven me to the pen I full well know. And am I aware That this thing is in me. A thing rare Flames about my heart as few will shape. And am I glad for this talent to write That comes but to a few men within a generation, Yet while I sit behind these curtained windows Looking out upon a narrow life With hour upon solitary hour Slipping by into the meadows Of passed days, I wonder about my strife. When I see the couples like blossoming flowers Or the conversing friends secure In the companionship of themselves And think I or myself alone, like some immobility Watching the actions of other men. The lure In me is strong and the very cells Yes the very cells of my body ache to be free.