Come safely, Go safely
by Fiza Pathan
I perceive you all around me, like the mellowing sound of the breeze
You serenade me with every word that drops from your lips
Like tiny droplets of luscious warm chocolate.
My suitor so fair you are too virtuous
For anything lesser than the most beautiful flower
Alas am I not your equal,
A witch among other things
And a hag of decadent wrath.
But if you call out to me dearest,
I will arrive before the tide draws out with your next sigh.
Your gazelle like grace paces over my heart’s interior
Like a nymph in the forest.
You are no midsummer’s night dream, but a reality
Which try as I must, I cannot look into your eyes to see.
Maybe not in handsomeness but I can compete for your affection
By my writing so dear to the soul.
Be still sweet one and let me capture your portrait in verse
Upon the papyrus of my ancient long lost emotions.
Is the poison you need to drink ever too much for your taste
Then drown me into your toxic wasteland
So that you may only receive the gain of my pain.
Ponder not on my jests so futile for true to my love,
When I see you cherished of my heart,
I really know not what should I say.
Fine words and long phrases cannot describe
The horizon beyond your ships sail,
I will weep to see you go away and pray
That the tempest of this bard’s tears will bring you back.
I juggle with my emotions, but I am certain they are here to stay
They shall be the pestilence when you are away,
The pandemic of love’s cruel fate
Which I am bound to like an anchor.
Love stories were made in the celestial sphere so does the Taoist say,
But if ever comes a time when heaven too bleats that you are wrong,
I’ll stake my very soul to the demon to state that you are gentle.
Meek young man whom many wish to seek refuge
Under the canopy of your affection,
Deign me a place at the door so that
I may always yearn to enter in anguish.
Cancer they say is the six lettered sobriquet of agony,
But for me it is a price I wish to pay for,
So that I may remain in your love even when I am gone.
You may not love my ardor and say plainly
I’m a fool to crown my own head
With the thorns of veneration to yourself.
But if ever time comes that one day you too shall prick
Your delicate fingers upon these spikes,
Be sure I’ll be there to cut my wrist to the spurs
That dared to waste your blood so dear.
What else can I say to delude you to have
A little bit of concern for my plight.
Come safely, go safely and sweeten my world
With at least one embrace before the next blood bead
Falls from my wounded spirit.
Copyright © 2013 Fiza Pathan
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