It is not you I run from,
it is the change, the inevitability.
I call you 'boyfriend'
with ease,
surprising my craving for difference,
delighting my mind-
yes, with youthfulness.
I am the teenager who met you very late,
the romantic, the poet,
who turned cynic-
too soon,
too soon.
Balloons can still unleash
from my grey mind.
Balloons-
red pink yellow
and also grey.
You stand,
at the rooftop's edge,
letting your kites
out into my sky.
I realize
the need for threads.
22/6/11
it is the change, the inevitability.
I call you 'boyfriend'
with ease,
surprising my craving for difference,
delighting my mind-
yes, with youthfulness.
I am the teenager who met you very late,
the romantic, the poet,
who turned cynic-
too soon,
too soon.
Balloons can still unleash
from my grey mind.
Balloons-
red pink yellow
and also grey.
You stand,
at the rooftop's edge,
letting your kites
out into my sky.
I realize
the need for threads.
22/6/11
I wanted to remark at the last paragraph...written masterfully.
ReplyDeleteSometimes its too hard to say the truth
ReplyDeleteTo accept the present and live with it
Sometimes goodbye is the only way ...