Youth and By Ourselves
Consider this and that
It wasn’t meant to be
The thing that is going to
Kill me is already on the inside.
There’s this small grandfather clock
Inside us all-
There are minutes of death.
Just the touch. Just this brief.
Where love slips away with the fare
But who’d ask for it back?
There was a time
I knew you though-
Hands, face, pendulum
And when we finally caught up with history
We were no less crueler than our parents.
Yet we were relentless, forgiving, unconditional
We were direction…in blue…on a road sign
Found everywhere…then suddenly…all at once…
Father. He misses mother and she’s been dead
For 24 years
I haven’t missed you that much and you are
Then I stepped away from the poem
We must have been sexton’s sad pencils to say
Those things back then.
But there are rooms for us now and anniversaries to
In the perfect city someone has left everything
Including themselves. You. You should
Make sure you date and pen down
All the soft things that we said.
Because everyone will ask when it was,
How it happened- say something about it.
How the night rain spilled all over.
Our lives. Our soft soft and honest lives.