Old Poems for Old Loves
I once wrote you into every poem -
hymn-touched, love-crushed, bud-laden,
as a presence for every excess -
.
only to substitute you with another contagion,
a new rage to charge my blood,
memorising your feeling, erasing the name.
.
But you are redux,
arriving as spirit, an unfolded memory,
refusing to be a disapproval,
resurrecting, seeking reimagination,
.
and I let you rush through my veins again,
in honour of your enduring wound,
to finally know love as a spell
band-aided on a scar.
Our feelings are a yo-yo. Forever seeking more, something different, something ultra energising. As if different is better. We are not able to figure out the difference between excess and endurance. Everything around us moves so rapidly - technology, circumstances, opinions - that even relationships fall victim to the syncopated rhythm of indulgence & desertion. And in this cornucopia of life, we lose sight of what is actually enduring, what is flippant, what we need to hold onto, what we need to release.
We indulge in a hurry, and regret at leisure. And in the hullabaloo of choices do not even realize what we've lost. Till, someone recognizes our gold, and realises the unmindful flippancy of our directions - and refuses to let us take them.
And in the blessings inherent in our lives, the accumulation of the good we've done in this world, we are able to embrace what finally endures. Our life is changed, we go past the nightmare of options, and find both the compass and the perch, the arc and the direction, the zen of the passing and the depth of what endures.
We are then blessed, because we have been found.
If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems full of nostalgia for love -
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