Tuesday, 18 June 2013

What is left of us (slowly drifting away)

Is it not sad?
That our once shared passion
Lies dead like ashes from a fire
Traces of an ecstasy lived
A moment in time

Is it not sad,
That our smiles have turned to frowns
Permanent wrinkles
From a bitter emotion
As if we never smiled
As if we never laughed

Is it not sad,
That we no longer look in the eye
And fail to notice
The object of our passion
The source of our blaze
In a dying hope to rekindle the flame
A last kick, if worthy of anything,
Of a dying love

Is it not sad,
That I can not be yours
And you, mine
That when I mention your name
It makes friction in my trachea
And so I confine myself
To not calling you at all
Even when my heart yearns for that

Is it not sad,
That poetry has become my therapy
I can no longer reach you
You are beyond where my words can reach
Where my will takes me
You are just there
I am just here
And always apart

Is it not strange, 
That we are now like strangers
And perhaps, stranger than all
Is that I still love you.

By Pardon Gwara (Zimbabwe)

picture source: wxxinews.org

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