Jul 062017
 

Untitled

Balkaran Singh Sidhu

 

As the slow servile past

Creeps on our backs

I will speak a tale or two

Some hopeless narrative that shoots

Some fervor into our spirits

 

Your timidness won’t have a place

It will swing like a pendulum

In between those raspy notes

Of self-sufficiency.

 

And as the dust of your soul

Will settle down on your pride

You will honk at me

Call me with the names,

Metaphors and analogies that

You so dearly etched onto me

 

You may shout my name

Like a rhyme that has been

Recited too often

That the heart knows the joy,

The muscle memory

The motility of perfect synchronization

 

I will be summoned

I will be remembered

For my skills with your brain

For my familiarity with your heart.

 

And maybe not that long ago

I might have seen myself there

I might have shouted your name a few times

But not today

Not now

Not when you have sold your soul

To better prospects

To a better life.

 

You won’t be a discarded letter

Or a Song that doesn’t have no singers no more

But a Poem, a verse

Left forever between two pages

Of a book.

           

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