Friends Of The Past
By Fiza Pathan
My waking hours slither around me like a serpent
I can’t free myself from the venom filled past
the past is deep and it is filled with
rich blood which I want to bathe in.
The wounds of decades gone by hurt me still
I bleed my tears with sad remorse
about the things that are long gone.
I remember old friends
who have turned away from my longing eyes
I miss them tremendously and call out their names
when the snake of hell pierces its fangs at my throat.
Dear friends of the past, where are you all now today?
My kingdom is small but riches I have in plenty.
Come and dine with your old comrade
whom you all loved a long time ago.
I stay silent as the pond in my Japanese garden
a pebble ripples the clear surface of my soul
when I think of my colleagues
whom I’ll never see again.
Tomorrow is another day
which I will spend knitting my heart
which like the sails of the lowly fishmonger
has been ripped several times and is in want of repair.
Sing another song together old bosom pals
to the one whose heart has been pondering over
the downcast eyes of the Buddhist sage.
Sing one last song together
and then we shall all return to our occupations
that has separated us from our mutual friendship.
I the poet right now do not know
what tomorrow holds for me.
Am I right to think of my friends
who have long since deserted my acquaintance?
Or should I pine
for the thorns of the yellow rose
which stains red when I vomit
my blood of poetry onto it.
Sing another song dear friends whom I love
your company is wanted by the depressed bard.
Sing another song while I play the lute
and then we can all laugh together again
like we used to.
Copyright © 2014 by Fiza Pathan
Image courtesy: http://www.morguefile.com/archive/display/117501