Trace

​

Our love was lost

In the cacophony of traffic

In busy life and random hazy thoughts;

running inevitably after

Targets and insatiable dreams

Mails, phone calls, meetings and

Corporate-sick-merrymaking-of-panties.

Our love was lost

In the deadlock of Hamlet and

The evasiveness of Iago,

In the mist of thousand pregnant poems

Dissected with arms and ammunitions

In a laboratory of nameless fluids

Of dry thoughts and forged emotions.

Our love was lost

to our daily strife for bread and jam

a cup of Irish cappuccino in CCD.

Our love was lost

In a hardbound book of hundreds

dry as a bone pages

words clashing and struggling for life and breath;

Between the fine silk partitions of a fancy Lavie bag

that matched the padded dress worn without a bra.

Lost. Lost. And lost.

Our love was lost..

Our love was lost

But not the trace of it

That found its way back

Covering up the fissures....

The moment we saw each other

Our eyes and passions travelled

Beyond the shadows of dark life;

Hands became one and the souls sought to unite

Memories reappeared and crevices dissolved

Bodies married and lips intertwined

To celebrate and commemorate

LOVE.

Our love was lost

But not the trace of it.

 

 

DO NOT WRITE POETRY

 

Do not write poetry,

Conceive it:

Hold it in your womb

Nurture it with your blood,

Food and fluids,

your breath and life.

Do not write poetry

Mother it:

Feed it your milk

Oozing out from your fine breasts

embrace and cuddle it

play the game of love

fear to lose it to Death.

Do not write poetry

Live it:

Grow with it

Every day, every hour, every second

Be with it in an eternal becoming

As if every day is the last day with it.