​the shackles of time …

i wish we could wish away these years,

my aching for you, consigned to an ocean of tears,

the thoughts of you, swirling in a cauldron, the heat my very soul sears.

my mind awash with what-could-have-beens,

if only time had been kinder, a decade here, a decade there,

seems so easy to write, but strangles my being with a noose bound tight.

time, they say, the great leveller of all,

embossed on its canvas the fate of so many,

whom destiny chose to rise, and those it deemed to fall.

my fate and yours seem like parallel lines, for though i feel you, close and dear,

we shall not meet, or so i fear,

for though i have swooned at the glimpse of your smile,

time’s sense of humour, thrashes this heart that beats for you, against the cliffs, drowning in a sea of blue.

i often ask, why this torturous game of chance, why this savage lonesome dance,

why these fleeting moments, why is time so arbitrarily unkind,

when there is a palpable meeting, of heart, of soul, of body of mind.

i yearn for your touch, i burn relentlessly, for a touch of our lips,

to feel your sweet breath, to savour our phantom kiss, a dreamy luxury i have been condemned to forever miss.

time, that ever present deceiver, flung me to cross your path, where a smouldering fire was set ablaze, within me,

doomed to never fall into each other’s arms, merely acknowledging the impossible, while scattering the ground around you with enticing charms.

this ache, this ceaseless pounding of my senses, at times a silly charade does seem,

for there are many temptations on my side of the stream,

yet this feeling will not relent, it shall not dim,

dancing to the tune of time’s inescapable whim.

if only for a while, were it possible to breach this maelstrom of time and of fate, if only i could step across the impassable threshold that keeps us apart,

a lifetime i could live in those moments few and true, to taste your mouth as i have so often dreamt, to have your hair fall over my face as i imbibe the smell of all of you.

these are cobbled words, scribbled here and there, certainly not a poem for which anyone should care,

yet these emotions are real, this yearning ache, this all-consuming desire for what-could-have-been,

torches my being entire, stranded on my island, neither here not there,

but what of these permutations does time even care,

and all i am able to do, is to lay out my heart for you, still hoping against hope that some time we may be able to share,

all the while embracing these dreamscapey emotions,

that are ever so rare …