Sunday, 29 January 2012

My Creater

In an instant it is done:
be it murder, suicide or a road kill.
Some deaths linger on though;
and there is more to them than the final event.

This death that you have written for me
Is it a little like that?

Why am I not allowed a lone tick of quiet?
a secret nook to mourn my loss?
a passion to claim my propensity to life?
Why am I not allowed to ask you why?

This death that you have written for me
Why doesn’t it kill?

Monday, 16 January 2012

To the end

Do you remember that moment?
When your eyes drank the depths of my soul?


Above those heads of incessant chatter,
tangled voices and smiles,
That glance that set into motion
An era’s glory; a life time of longing;


Sometimes now when I go about
walking on a familiar road,
humming forgotten tunes,
dawdling in the midwinters sun;
There is still an ache that wont be quelled


How many words and glances have followed that?
Words that thrilled the very depths of my being
Glances that castoff the ignominy of unfamiliarity.


There were words that shattered too
squints of revulsion, a hand raised in disgust
a voice shivering with odium.


And yet today if I think of you
it is only that thirst that comes to my mind.

Truly we forget only what we want to
The rest we carry with us to the end.