when you downed your second coffee, sleep still in your eyes
The patterns of your pyjamas, the butter on your toast-
In all the ways I remember you, I liked you then the most.
Round about 11.30, getting near time for lunch,
Your dreams were all forgotten, or else had lost their touch.
And so the world was calling, and the answer came- 'I'm Here'
and when the world sent for you, you would dissapear.
And evening was like a curtain, brought down around your eyes
where wearyness contented you to linger by and by-
And sadness like a snowflake, her fragile beauty fell
and night crept in like sand around your broken razor shell.
until bone begins to crack,
until pain is alive-
until I believe the stone is a part of me-
until I forget that the stone is there.
I dream of mountains, reccurring dreams,
I dream of hands, of pain-
I cry sometimes when I see a stray stone,
and know not why-
Sometimes and half like to die, and I know not why.
I clench a stone till my hands bleed
and unswervingly believe the stone
all I have ever known-
Thinking that it would hurt more to release the stone
than to hold on ever tighter.
I bury the knowing of a time before the stone in my reccurring, meaningless dreams.
itr is my bedfellow now- we co-inhabit the same sphere.
At night and sometimes during gaurdian day,
I am held in its powerful gripping arms.
I never knew that fear could make you feel sick,
it is my ill fortune now to have stumbled upon the trick.
At night sometimes my mind is pushed away,
and I am the watcher of hours
till the break of gaurdian day.