How could I feel the gnawing,
of grief in silence, without crying,
and know that this illusion of being home
was not mine, since there was no picture of you?
And feel I reside with such unkind reservation
that keeps me from not shattering the windows
and plucking out the thunder from the skies
without the lightning piercing my heart?
What stores the gold of the soul
I shared with you, when vision never even sights
that hologram repeat itself in the mirror
of my life. Is it that the truth is not retractable,
or is it waiting patiently in the heat and cold
that I should burn like embers
time and again; and still feel tender
when the cold doesn’t thaw the ice outside?
Did you think I bid you bye for all the pain?
I ask why? It only could have been a lie,
conjured by the deceit that wants us dry
of any love between us! Yet, I have been your warrior
without any courier from you in affirmation.
Did I survive the eternity of waiting
to let it go like a vapor in the darkness!
Do you think I can dream without you
If my words were trapped in the alleys
between you and me, by a warped tormentor
so, all it echoed was monosyllabic: No!
I’d rather have the tormentor go!
What would you please? I had flu,
but never sneezed, would it be the disease
that causes me to freeze with the prospect
that I can never have you; without his dispensation?
And how little do I have of you, anyway
with his perennial disposition towards our love
to suit his own treacherous convenience?
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