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(S)HE

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Once upon a day,
Much like this,
But a year and years away…
There was a world,
A world unready,
For what we know as (S)he.
Yet they chose,
And chose they did,
To give this world a child.
They said, they say:
This mild a world,
Will be a place less mild.
(S)he, like the night,
Will drown your days
And make your all a mess.
Yet it’s not a life,
That which you live,
Without a tint of (s)heyiness.
.
Then came that night,
Unlike this,
Yet still, many years away…
That some sailor
Was left unborn,
To see the sea on other a day.
A day that came
Really late,
A bit more than late, some say.
He never knew
One day he will
Feel belated, as he does today.
For today he is,
Unlike he was,
A sailor with no sails to free.
Sails lull alone,
As winds give in,
To the godly tresses of (s)he.
.
It’s on a day,
One close to this,
Not a year, nor years away…
That they met,
And met they did,
On a beach and sat to play.
Castles, they built,
Of sapphire and honey,
And wetter than wet the clay.
Flourish, it did,
And on it lives,
Within the memory of today.
Memories fade,
But we live on
Within the ruins of yesterday,
Hoping not
A day will come
When kisses become the clay.
.
Then on a day,
One far from this,
In a year and years to come…
The sailor will,
Sail no more,
And a diver he will become.
To dive in honey
Or in its memory?
The memory of chestnut eyes.
Eyes that haunt;
Eyes in which
The essence of (s)heyiness lies.
Eyes that might
Weigh too much
On a (s)heless lover of (s)he.
Eyes that will
Make him live,
Just hoping they would see.
.
But on this day,
Exactly this,
Not a year, nor years away…
The sailor chants,
From a blueless sea,
To the bluefull eyes of (s)he:
I see myself,
And all I was,
And all that I am yet to be…
A speckle of dust,
Not even dust,
In your gaze of a faded me.
For what am I?
But the residue of
A man so swept by this day.
The day on which
Birth they gave
To we whom I love as (s)he.
.
.
.
L.


________

Your love helps me write something worth reading or do something worth writing. Thanks, L.

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