This is far too rich for poetry
Far too heavy for tears;
What is that thread that binds
My wound to yours,
Till, bleeding, I can scarce recognise
Your dark scars from mine?

You have come a long way
Through the corridors of my mind;
I have travelled too, long distances
In your hazy memory,
And when we meet behind the blur of tears
You know that our meeting
Was not the casual need of a passing hour;

In you I have met men
Carrying banners to the mountains
Dragging their feet upon the stones;
In you I have seen the victor
Smiling at visions of glory;
In you I have also seen the broken
Idol of clay;
You have been my enemy barricaded in
Your silence,
Battering me wordlessly, soundlessly,
While I crumple up before your indifference.

You have been my friend,
When I stood clawing the air
Looking for mental footholds
In the shifting precipices of my mind
And you lifted me gently,
From the deeps of my thoughts,
Smoothened the creases
Upon my brow,
And silenced the queries in my eyes,
And in that moment I believed once again
In illusions of understandings
Beneath mounds of mistrust and hurt.