Fleet Old Church

Hit by a storm

Rendered dysfunctional and unsafe

Left alone to face

Ravages of time and seasons.

The Devote worshipper, undeterred

Returned

Tempted by your simplified existence

And believed in you.

There you stood

A testament to faith.

A thorn to the fickle masses

Who refuted your existence

And do not truly comprehend.

Yet, the path to you was brambled and wild,

Separating those who had faith,

From those who renounced.

 

I will never sit there with you.

 

I arrived

But was

Misled.

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Winter’s Vindication 

Spring stretches out and caresses skeletons,

Limbs and buds tantalised as the bringer of

New beginnings penetrates them.

The pains of the Winter were necessary;
growth stunted, stripped bare and exposing Summer’s dreams.

Abandoned.

Yet somehow like Shiva

Spring’s promises have cast beautiful shadows

Over what yet is to come

Narcissist’s Love 

I love the way I feel when I’m with you.

Seeing myself through your eyes,

Imagining how I look to you.

I love your love.

I love being your mystery, 

Your riddle.

Being what keeps you up at night,

Your obsession,

Your altar, 

Your sacrament, 

Your icon, 

Your miracle. 

Your answer,

Your sacrifice,

Your pain. 

I love breathing your air, 

Sucking your blood, 

Eating your dreams. 

I love being your drug, 

Your razor cut, 

Your suicide note. 

Touch your idol

Let my guilt stain your fingers.

Loving the Black Dog

Sometimes I think I can kiss

the sadness from your heart.

I did, but afterwards you sat up, all bones and dry hands,

And told me: There is a knot in your body that I cannot undo.
Sometimes you are gone for days at a time
Even though 
you are right there,

Still waking next to me.

But your eyes are like an empty house 
In the dark; lights left on to deter intrusion.
I am the intruder

You are locked up.

And I think I give you a reason 
not to be so sad
As when I held your body like 
a soaring note and we both trembled.

But it’s not enough.
Pushed away from you,

So that you can

dive to the depths.

When your reassurances of needing space
Hold no comfort, because you simultaneously tell me

You crave the company of others.

I’m sensitised to every silence, suspicious that you want something else.
In truth you do: another life,

That I suspect wouldn’t involve me.

My mistrust drives you wild with anger,
And we tear each other apart;

together.

Your Poem 

I can’t remember

The poem you asked me to read

At your funeral.

Only that it was atheist

And questioned heaven.

Newly pregnant

with your grandchild;

No one knew.

I composed myself

All morning,

So that I could read,

In a chapel of an Oxford college,

Full

Of those who knew how to….

And I did a terrible job of it.

I’m sorry.

I failed grieving for you too;

I couldn’t publicly

Mourn the loss of my ally,

The one who saw me for who I was

And loved me for it.

I had to read your poem,

For you.

And for that I was damned.

Damned for staying composed,

For not shedding a tear.

I loved you

You knew me and I knew you.

And in one small act,

I was outcast

When you left.

So Hum

She surrenders to change
Not wanting to know why,
Released the desire
And the need to be needed.
Visioned with clarity
What is
Not what was promised;
Or desired.
Grasped this sacred experience
And learned the lessons.
Accepted the dissatisfaction
The untruths of life,
But not of love:
And let go.

Om Asato Maa Sad-Gamaya
Tamaso Maa Jyotir-Gamaya
Mrtyor-Maa Amrtam Gamaya
Om Shaantih Shaantih Shaantih