A poem about an erstwhile friend

 

To Poland With Love

 

by Kaleem Raja

 

Jan 10

 

 

I want nothing

From you.

I need nothing

From you

Because it is nothing

That you have to give.

Come with nothing

Left with nothing

You reduced everything

To nothingness

Light dimmed to black.

And it is back into nothingness that you go.

You can go

I say go

Beseech you my dear

And I do dare demand.

There is no place to which you I would follow,

Despite all your borrowed robes,

For all your tomorrows were merely my yesterdays.

Are you lost in your self-absorbed haze?

You are the reason and treason that casts shadows over what is to live.

When the cracks have into chasms blown.

And the tears have their tracks found

I will hail and holler

Look Ma no hands, see. Send in the clowns

At your own speed of mind

Of course,

You’re a photo finish in a one-horse town,

You are the horse they put down.

Lifeless,

Spineless,

Feckless.

Regardless of those that turned their backs on you, it is widely known of course

You were alone,

You were heroine

Bubbling on a teaspoon over a candle flame.

Final battles that did decide all fates.

Swings and slides made of credulous sensibilities,

Made death traps of downy cradles.

All must to their demons abide.

To this I resign and you will find

Me impervious as I reside

Over your intelligence which is merely zero dimension

In space and time

And visceral;

A by-product of straightened hair and vaselined grin

And subject to all post-Christmas slimming djinns

And the man who would be father to your kids

And all your hang-ups did

Ask you, did he not, “Are you worthy?”

Are you?

Sure you are, a question hardly.

Yes that is you of a season, of a reason that makes a mere cog of you

And in your simple mind

You appease those that hold the reigns and make of blind men kings.

That keep you in the pains to which your accustomed

And the revolver that decides a life worth living

And makes a mere childish fool of you.

They are what matter

In your law and world order

At a pace that you can handle.

Go to them, to them who swindle

You to the begging bowl

And to the leg of their throne

And the sacred hem they claim they own.

Go back deep to the sleep

That you say serves you best,

Drags you to the edge of the abyss

Where you hit your verve and replenish your vim

And another still born, another hero falls

Crest

Over breast in blood and guts, sinew and slime.

All your hopes and fears come down in time.

I have ripped out of conformity

A deformity

Upon which I happily place the crown

While all the world drowns

And I stand proud - an abdicated king in beggars rags

Against the flotsam and foam tide

Long after you have drowned and died.

 

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