Thursday, July 19, 2007

Pale Fire

My tenderest, youngest love
eighteen then now
graying and receding.


Only in dreams do your eyes
hold the pale fire they once did.

I seek your face in nameless
crowds like a bright blob
of red recognition.


Ten years this August
maybe seventeenth - a day
whose minutes stretch
for miles in memory.


I asked you to define
"this thing we have"
Your silence buried
whatever it was.


And since then I have
wondered, if I should
have paused, looked
back - maybe smiled.
I may have had my answer.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Nice poetry. I can relate many colors in this fire, Red is my choicest though.
BTW...is seventeenth August your birthday or is it J??
Its a spl time here as mine comes fifteenth.

Puja Sadani,
Los Angeles, CA.

cheti said...

beautiful !

ITs such a pity that we realise lot of things only in retrospect !

Heartcrossings said...

Puja - No 8/17 is not a birthday :) Happy Birthday in adavance to you.

Cheti - Thanks ! Yes, it is a pity and specially when someone you once loved is lost to the point where it might hurt less to know that they are dead...