Perhaps the way to begin is not this but I must speak while
I still can. Let me bring an end to imaginary conversations where
I have spoken for both your voice and mine; where I have asked and you have
Smiled in assurance and I have been lulled into hoping.
Perhaps the time is now to end this sham and end this pretence of ours
Or rather mine, where I have thought I am the centre of your existence
And inspiration for each has been the other.
Now I know that this is mere delusion, a mirage in the barren lot of my life
That gave succour and sustenance; mana in the desert of the Israelites
I must speak whilst I still can……
Perhaps you can hear me still, perhaps you do not care
I have heard the nightingale sing when you speak
“Now more than ever seems it rich to die
To cease upon the midnight with no pain”
But come, I become maudlin with grief, I cannot weep now.
It is that first day of Ashadh and the rain weeps instead for me, coming far
From the cloud messenger; it knows my shade too well
I must speak while I can ……
Perhaps even pretend I am yours once more.
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