Surprised by Light
surprised by light,
it burrows through drape fibers,
casts silver threads upon my pillow,
brushes my eyelids
with soft white feathers —
surprised by daybreak,
the pink and amber sky,
the robin’s first song,
rejoicing —
surprised
by gladness.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Susanne Nilsson, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons
Beach House
twilight at low tide:
the seabed like a wide flat road
stretches for a mile;
across the distance
the volcano stands,
majestic
against the changing sky —
I look back:
the beach house my father built
awaits,
from the balcony, gas lamps flicker,
orange flames glow
in lavender light —
I walk with hermit crabs
upon rocks and sand,
gather sea urchins
in my willow basket,
my little feet soaked
in shallow waters
this moment I am
with the sea as the tide turns,
the volcano shrouded in twilight,
the beach house
silent,
aglow.
D. G. Vachal ©2025
Image by Tim Hill @pixabay
The Walk Back Alone
this poem completes the diptych, “A Stranger at Sunset” being the first panel …
the streetlamp stands tall,
a lighthouse guiding my footsteps back —
heartbeats pound my chest:
a rhythmic sound like horse-hooves,
from the tall grasses crickets chirp
out of tempo,
tonight I am bewildered
by this strange evening music —
at the dormitory
I pace the yellow tiled floor,
from a distance
young ladies sit at study tables
with their tea and textbooks —
the night deepens,
I tremble like a leaf in the wind,
gravity forsakes me,
I walk with the stars
light years away,
I am lost in a place
no map can locate —
after restless sleep
another day blossoms in the sky:
a seed within me
stirs from its slumber
awakened
by the stranger at sunset.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by J. Plenio @pixabay
A Stranger at Sunset
the sky was light mandarin
the first time we met
you, a stranger from far away,
my task to welcome you
to our land
for just a few hours —
you and I
walked to the bus stop
you with your crisp white shirt
long sleeves,
creaseless
I with a topsy-turvy skirt,
mismatched blouse
checkered,
floral,
yellow, pink, and green —
shy and tongue-tied was I
you spoke on through my silence
your footsteps
confident
upon the cobbled streets
while I stumbled on —
you found a place for us to dine,
a table where the light fell soft
upon your face
for the first time
I looked into your eyes
as you looked into mine —
the dusty red bus brought us back
to the same stop
there we said goodbye
your smile lighted the night’s darkness
it was then I knew
I would see you again.
D. G. Vachal ©2025
Image by ELG21 @pixabay
A Cold December Night and the Rain
A cold December night and the rain
pummels the rooftops,
drops colorless pearls
on the kitchen window
my reflection
cloudy on the wet glass,
as icicle fingertips put away
pots and pans where they belong
hidden
until tomorrow’s bidding —
Long ago on a cold December night like this
while the rain pummeled the rooftops,
a porcelain cup broke gently,
delicate Saxon flowers
shattered on the floor
as I knelt to collect the broken pieces,
soft footsteps walked towards the door
and in an eternal moment
the door closed
slowly
like an ebbing tide —
A cold December night and the rain
pummels my heart
and once again
the rain brings me back to a place
of scattered Saxon flowers,
a broken porcelain cup
that once was whole.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by AnNeef @ Pixabay
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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