And these words will hold no bearing, like drifting ash from solemn pyres,
And then we’ll keep the company of boozers, cons and liars.
Will distance then take its toll? Will embers then burn with coal?
With a shrug of your shoulders will you brush the past aside?
Will I forget where you reside?
Will I then whisper nothings of arrows and topaz,
Of loving with no problems or pride?

He sought poetic benedictions; he drowned in poems of despair
He thought the truth would break his shackles, she traced his sentence with her tear,
For in some stupor, he must have whispered, the last or latest straw,
and showed her north by constellations, the watchers seeing what she saw.
And when the experts with their scalpels made light work of Clementine,
When Joel was but a distant memory, these watchers whispered ‘she’ll be fine’.
A hazy view of streets of fire and some squares cordoned off at morn,
A wry smile, perhaps a chuckle about some cricket from Ceylon,
A bosom buddy, some Russian writer, a goldfish wrapped in cellophane,
A scribbled note with fonts misleading, the world’s most elusive lane.
But the trinkets that she gave him were all stolen by the serfs,
So he made do with what they threw him, ran to jaded patchy turfs
A day removed, Joel felt anxious, when the lake turned him away.
He saw no cloud with silver lining, felt the torn and frosty day,
And when the earth would pierce his being, and written words were icy blades,
He’d walk the placid square till morning, or till the memory of her fades,
Why don’t you punch me in the face then, stomp on my shiny shoe,
Why don’t you shoot me with a pistol, ensure I’m beaten black and blue.
Castrate me with the kitchen knife, bludgeon me with the pan,
Cast me to the lions or at least suspend from some fan!
Why don’t you let me hold you closer, let me hear you breathe?
Why don’t you let me fill your caverns, let me inch towards your sheath?
Why don’t you lie here in my arms then, run your fingers through my hair?
And softly whisper promises that will expire late this year.
We’re only human, and should one cut us we shall surely bleed
With trips of grandeur, the best of healers, all our feeling shall recede,
And then these words will hold no bearing, like drifting ash from solemn pyres,
And then we’ll keep the company of boozers, cons and liars.
Will distance then take its toll? Will embers then burn with coal?
With a shrug of the shoulders will you brush the past aside?
Will I forget where you reside?
But wasn’t it you who told me to love,
Impassioned! With no problems or pride.