shine on, you crazy diamond!
I had my demons and she her gods
Aspirations aside, life seemed at odds.
While she managed to ignore, lest she would be caught in an emotional sway
I tried to safely maneuver mine away.
But somewhere the strings tugged
Dear friend, some things are such-
our bond, it goes beyond dreams of familiar insanity
of shared laughter and ingenuity.
Still, it felt weighed down by probabilities
Some that turned to facts and others ignored like embarrassing disabilities.
As I continued my spiral towards the fag end with alacrity
She struggled against brevity.
Then there are always those notes from past- of forgotten wit
and dead leaves that bookmark impetuous spirit.
Of scribbles on a ‘page 3’ photograph,
moonstones in silver, glass bangles and intellectual riff-raff.
Invariably, the shadows get longer
while I think of the little time before she left for yonder.
As the fireworks sparkle somewhere in the distant sky, I raise a silent toast to her,
to us, for the three odd summers that we have known each other.
Aspirations aside, life seemed at odds.
While she managed to ignore, lest she would be caught in an emotional sway
I tried to safely maneuver mine away.
But somewhere the strings tugged
Dear friend, some things are such-
our bond, it goes beyond dreams of familiar insanity
of shared laughter and ingenuity.
Still, it felt weighed down by probabilities
Some that turned to facts and others ignored like embarrassing disabilities.
As I continued my spiral towards the fag end with alacrity
She struggled against brevity.
Then there are always those notes from past- of forgotten wit
and dead leaves that bookmark impetuous spirit.
Of scribbles on a ‘page 3’ photograph,
moonstones in silver, glass bangles and intellectual riff-raff.
Invariably, the shadows get longer
while I think of the little time before she left for yonder.
As the fireworks sparkle somewhere in the distant sky, I raise a silent toast to her,
to us, for the three odd summers that we have known each other.
3 Comments:
Yet…
There will be, yet, those notes full of wit
And dead leaves that bookmark impetuous spirit
For there will be, yet, a million conversations
And the odd leaden silence, smoothened by habit.
Some days will turn over, and some will remain
Some in bursts of delight, some quietly in pain
You will still find peace when you open your fist
I will seek the ocean in the blue in my vein.
Some buried in closets; in preserved notebooks, some
Or floating in the dregs of yesterday’s rum
New words, new worlds, new loves will all be found in old
Some will be sought, while others will come.
We don’t need endings where a new verse will start
There are more summers yet, and winters to chart
In the new we will be forever familiar
Yet at one, if from lands apart.
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