51

it began with some impertinence
on my part, though for that i have
no apologies. that was when we
built bridges on harmless banter, before
the storm of understanding eroded them.
years now have come
between us, like the sea that isolates
shipwreck survivors. we bob,
sometimes a finger-length away,
sometimes miles apart. time made me
drift; at times i almost lost hold

completely, resembling
a certain ex-planet, always
the dwarfed outsider, straining to keep
to one eccentric orbit, revolving
around the wrong core. though you
had your circle of friends, held by
one like-minded gravity, you did not
cast me to the oblivion of unknown
galaxies and anaerobic darkness.
by your neptune-like strength i remained
a part, a part of life's ellipse.

your forte is words; i prefer numbers.
but your name, in both, will be framed
in eternal recollection: the cornerstone
of the house of youth. for that
i thank you.

for shayi

softly we struggle.

i.

i trawl the night for afterthoughts;
the Net manages only straggling
shrimp, some headless, others tailless, all
writhing, desperately, into incoherent

images. i grasp a handful: they
slither, suddenly snakes,
i flail; i fail:
only ghosts remain.

ii.

a general humming: the air vibrates
with monotony, creates
false equanimity. now, under
tacit command, i expect

instantaneous calamity, but
only the earth shifts, an infinitesimal
displacement, unnoticed as these
blades that surreptitiously

slice each minute into shreds.
still, i sense the stirring. is it
time? if i close my eyes,
will we still exist?

sorry.

the words are not coming. well they are, but they always sound wrong. pardon me if the stuff here is awful; i feel a need to churn things out, if only to keep the cogs running. i hope things fix themselves soon. hmm.

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the crisp fragrance of apples
wafts in through the gaps
between the murmurs of this
silence, perforated by your fingers
tapping melodies on a tuneless keyboard.
elsewhere the tv blares sitcoms like static.
brother's breathing sandpapers the night.

this is life now. you are running (purposefully it seems)
through invisible cords, like those that used
to bind us, only more technical. i shiver
as i mill in this falsely deepening space, hoping
somewhere we'll meet, wishing you would see
my face in something more than pixels, read
my mind beyond size 12, times new roman.

a hairdryer moans: distress without words;
they splatter on the ground from the rusty showerhead,
evoking no response. there is no percolation.
you lean forward, seeking truth in that digital mirror
you've placed between us. you've made me your
reflection, an illusion behind this imaginary wall.
a metre away, i am trying to reach you
but i don't have your number.

only after

i. cat

you will leap onto the wall
nimbly, all grace, leave
nothing behind, paws pitter-
pattering the night into morse
dots and dashes.

pause.

now you will cringe, tail swishing
blade-like, claws tapping
out, again, re-morse
slots and slashes. i listen
numbly.

ii. lift

you will stop ringing. now.
you chime when you are empty
you chime when you are not.
now you will stop. rest for the night.
then tell me tomorrow if we're
going up, or maybe you'd say we're
going down.

iii. coffee mug

you have lost your colour.
years of staining tabletops have taken their
toll. i have sipped too much regret
from you, now my teeth are
irreversibly yellowed, like the aged pages
of that photo album stowed away
somewhere, which, if i recall,
still has your mark on page 7.
discolourations are memorable.

(why?)