Friday, 28 September 2012

Your Sleeves and Mine

The poem to the left 
Roll up my sleeves again
so our palms cross paths
as they did
and when its far enough
take my hand
and walk me into time memorial
far enough;
til my hand grows smaller than yours.

walk me past innocence
and please stay a while,
remember to make me forget
painful reason that we left behind

towards moon river
just round the bend
show me, all my friends
before I knew the differences

before skin knew deformity
born of pain
make it yesterday once more
yeah, those old songs
written before I knew
weighted words, and wrongs
so intimately well

and take me just there
past calculation
that smelt of insanity,
and cold seclusion.
before bold delusion
I hold confusion
in contempt,
leave it in the bushes
of my old back garden
amongst the leaves
and forgotten tennis balls
we couldn't find,
some sunny day.

where and when
we'd watch the races together
I'd support whoever you did.
and don't forget a meal
on our travels
in a time where
I can't even consider paying
and i might be shy,
to tell you all I want through timid lips
though you can share my chips.

blissful, wouldn't you concur?
khala* roll up my sleeves
and take me to where we were





*Khala, the urdu word for maternal aunt

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