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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.

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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.
9:56 PM
Rajavel said…
beautiful !

ITs such a pity that we realise lot of things only in retrospect !
10:54 PM
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...
7:24 PM
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