Oh, Stranger-Like-Me.

I wonder many times, oh-stranger-like-me,
Of how it would be
If you perhaps come across these lines
And smile (or perhaps shed a tear) and think
This heart’s so much like me.
If I would write of how love passed me by –
And you would not question why
I was thinking of throwing myself to the ground
From the terrace of a building.
If I would mention how love returns –
And yet incessantly burns,
With a sharpness and sting
That makes all wonder on the need of this thing.
Would you, stranger-like-me, think of this?
Have you hoped for immortal bliss
And settled for earthly disillusionment?
A neglectful youth arising from abuse –
Of what I have gained and what I shall lose?
Do you – would you – have any reckoning?
I have loved again and now I find
That love alone can torture the mind;
By the lack of words or a stronger voice,
Have you ever had the pressure of choice?
Have you ever thought he never wrote back?
What didn’t I give? What did I lack?
Now, I have loved again. Do you think:
What if it all passes again in vain…?
Then did you scowl and write
In your way of scribbling down black on white,
That being held by some one once again
Is worth so much of all this pain?
If you do feel even the slightest bit
Of the emotions my heart knits…
Know also, stranger-like-me,
I write for eternity.

1:30am
14th February.

Times Like These.

There are times when I think of your eyes
And think of two suns, shining down on me;
When, in my repertoire of feeling, flies
A thought of your smile saving sanity.
There are times when you fill up all space
And all I know is my hope resting in you,
When in my heart you gain the best place,
While everything in my life seems untrue.

There are times when I ache to hear goodbyes
From friendship, honour, (at times, even hope),
Then the present shows me your smile, your eyes
And with thoughts of you my heart learns to cope.
So when life has me on my knees begging please,
I’ll be grateful to have known times like these.

October 28.
5am.

Arwen to Elrond.

I have loved the sadness of his quiet face,
I have understood the despair in his eyes,
I have known his aura, his hope, his grace,
And the age-old guilt which in his soul lies.

I have soothed his brow and felt the blades,
I have tried to ease constant pain by touch;
He’s love to me, and now when all life fades,
Death, when compared to this love, is not much.

I have chosen enveloping darkness,
I have spurned the last of the passing ships,
I have shunned every sign of weakness,
For the memory of his eyes, his lips.

If Aman promised me my share of bliss,
I care not, for, in his heart, I have this.