The smell of hyacinths, pungent and pervading,
my senses reel, I am transported to
hypnotic worlds of sensuous delight.
No longer in the blue room with the bowl of white hyacinths
but elsewhere.

There is a warm sea, flowing gently
to a still beach where soft, golden sands
discarded by some pre-jurassic ocean
lie undisturbed beneath the balcony
on which I stand. Is this a memory?
triggered by the invading scent of hyacinths.

Tall columns soar to the timeless sky
from the pink tiled floor reflecting sunglow,
between the columns an archway with
only dimness beyond, and perhaps the answers
to a thousand doubts and questions.
Answers not to be seized or understood
if the step through the archway is not taken.

The promise of knowledge drifts out towards me
drenched and disguised in the perfume of hyacinths.

The moment passes, I am back to myself,
returned from the other reality
to the blue room and perfumed white hyacinths,
which may, or may not, be real.


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