As We Are To Each Other
I am the reminiscence of you, since you were once me –
stirred among the strings of sense.
I am the reminiscence of everything you love,
since the vivacity of things you praise most.
I remind you of dark of the sky enlivened by stars, blue,
Or grey miasmas scurrying towards the horizon.
Or I remind you of undaunted tide of time clenching fist against you,
Or perhaps, I remind you of the marionettes of dead
Danced by twisted delusions.
Perhaps I am horror to you, or joy
Of trivial surprises which you long for with avidity,
But cannot quench your insatiable thirst.
Perhaps I am your reminiscence, really,
Of stardust slowly fading somewhere in your past sojourns.
Yet I could have been me apart from your reminiscence,
Instead of an endless strive of hauling eyes above the sea of us,
As I know, the corpse of poets’ floats for a show
While the living ones are dragged down to be trampled.
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