A passing shadow broke my dream
I heard a chair being scraped behind
A figure sits at my desk, its eyes buried
in a forgotten book of mine.
What can it be looking at?
Those eyes I have seen somewhere
I try to dispel the aura of sleep
A shiver runs and I am wide-awake
Is it really my truant muse?
What could she be looking for
Love-scribbled notes, I no longer need?
I cannot recall my own words
but still she thinks them worth a read?
Anger pours silently into my blood
where was she when I was killed
by words of derision, crude expectations?
I waited for her even as I died
Never a nod, not even a smile
passed those cruel lips of hers
Betrayed, my hopes learnt to recede.
Yet when the shadows of dusk gathered
I lingered in vain for a fleeting glimpse of her
but in the throes of a long, black night
I knew she had left me to drown all alone.
And now when I have done my penance,
undone the damages done by time
She stealthily comes around again
to take credit for the pain that is all mine?
Rage gave me wings to move
My fingers at her throat before she flew
I saw the scars upon her pale neck
and knew her suffering matched mine too.
For what indeed is a muse to do
without a soul to pour herself into?
(I saw myself drown in her
I found the dream I had lost before
I saw the hope that I had never let go
I found a river ready to flow.)
7th August 2012