For now here’s some poetry what I wrote on 23/11/15 when I should have been asleep, in wee hours of morning, as I lay visiting an old site of comparison and worth, put on a pedestal to keep allowing myself to hurt;
Instant electric attraction we had,
From the moment that our eyes clapped,
Minds met, thoughts kept, hands felt, lips licked, love flicked,
Hours flew, you met me, I knew you,
You grew, me too,
Love gathered, looming large,
It slew the me and the you,
Outside in this our ‘samage’*
We. That’s all that it was,
Simplicity with no external worth,
Internal cuts of self-hurt.
Sparkly loves eyes lost that bright hue,
The gas pipe was broken, no plumber, no electrician did we know,
No hope was entertained no stopper for death’s croak…
As artificial sparks were entertained,
The fluorescence of lust came to slay,
As you chucked love into its grave,
the one I dug gleefully as I struggled to with tools brought to save, selfish.
Selfishly I craved,
but naively with no idea what I made,
The We I help us negate,
the Darkness that lovers spark can create..
The hurricanse, the tsunamis it can keep at bay,
The strenght needed to be selfish,
Entertain no other,
Making space for only each other,
Our true souls lovers,
Marked by that first spark,
but needing constant paraffin so no lustful depravity can be let in…
Like that surrounding us on separate roads as we follow the world’s din.
I know this now, too late,
My impatience caught up to it’s conscience again.
Sat opposite yet another pale imitative comparison,
I wonder if your faith in our unequal separation is still so persistent?
Or at you at that peace,
the one with waves,
of constant reticence and hesitation,
Coupled with a impulsive fervour,
the addictive need to fuck it and jump in.
Anxiety breeds misinformed misdeeds,
but I am not a me in need,
as you are a you,
who knows what you see, feel, need.
Not now, Not me.
– Not now me.
*Samage – urdu/punjabi word meaning society/community/zietgeist