do it now so it hurts me less

give up, whoever you are wherever you may be

go on and give up on me

no mail will you get nor a letter receive

today again you won’t hear from me

unsated you’ll have to spend another day

there’s nothing again that i’m going to say

you’ll yet again sit slumped at your desk

smoke yet another cigarette

in vain attempts to smoke away my memories

or restlessly nibble away at another slice of cheese

or distractedly twirl a strand of your hair slow-

ly as you yawn and blankly stare out of the window

but looking back you’ll eventually realize

i was hardly pleasant, and besides

not half as addictive as these

cigarettes and yawns and cheese

and you’ll unceremoniously let me slip atop the heap

of things relegated to the realm of forgottenness

the field assistant’s song

we walk in this lovely forest, in the wilderness we hold so dear

there’s nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all to fear

for i am here with you and the weather’s clear!

it may have started to rain, and the walk has become a drag

but that’s nothing to be sad about, don’t let your spirits sag

for i am here with you and there’s food in the bag!

we may have run out of food, and the stream’s another hour

but nothing to be scared of, we’re still on a walkable path

i know the general direction and the basecamp isn’t far!

the forest does seem unfamiliar, we may have lost the way

but not a worried sigh, not an anxious word must you say

for i am here with you and we still have the light of day!

it may be getting dark now, and it seems a battery-change was overdue 

there might be a slight problem if we ran into elephants, it’s true

but then you are here with me and i can run faster than you!!

not worth it

don’t waste your money on my poems

spend it on good coffee instead

nor your time either

spend it with your lover in bed

untitled

i can’t think of a title for this one

even after frantic thought

in fact i can’t write anymore

wish i could justify it

saying something romantic or

insightful or deep

that it’s because of all the hurt i’ve seen

in the eyes that are still adorned by smiles

that it’s been stifled by all the hearts that’ve borne

great troubles without a complaint. that it’s been rent

by the lives that’ve been torn

by mindless strife

that words seem worthless before little hands

scaly dry and cold, and tiny scabbed toes

sticking out of broken shoes. innocent

eyes staring out from under matted hair

uncomprehending of how unfair

the world is. staring at the trickle of water

blowing on numb fingers to warm

them while waiting for the bucket

to be carried back home

souls like shoes

from trudging get worn

ideas begin to seem naked, shorn of dignity

but no, that’s not happened to me

ya, sure, in this world immense

i’ve trudged along a bit on weary feet

and seen the futility of pretence

amongst strangers, and the insignificance

of what i called poetry

but to be honest, things don’t affect me like they should

maybe they’re for minds greater than mine

to ponder upon and internalize

and then talk of in pained prose

in anguished howls through the night

my heart’s too shallow

my thoughts too inane

my emotions too fickle

my love too vain

so now if i lay my pen to rest

you know it’s not because i detest the written word

and don’t let me convince you of something fancy like

my heart pays no heed to my mind’s behest

no, there’s nothing wrong
it’s simply that

the vanity i felt in my thoughts is gone

being fickle

i was ready to give up everything

stay put sprout roots like a tree

to give up the world for you
give up even poetry

for you for ever

for an eternity

for a week at aleast

the trouble with being in love with poets

“ all these days i waited for word

   wondering how you are

   and finally i hear from you:

   a twentyfive pasie postcard

   stamped at a small town post office

   in some distant land

   and not a word on it, but for the address

   written in your hand

   and a stupid sketch of the hills at dusk

   with wiggly greens and squiggly crags

   the pale sky with silly wispy clouds

   and silhouetted prayer flags

   so you’d like me to believe you thought of me, if only for an evening

   but i know that’s not true

   some misplaced sense of guilt you’ve been running from i guess

   must’ve finally caught up with you

   (so fuck off ) ”

you wronged me, sweet, twice

you wronged me sweet with such vice

you wronged me not once but twice

once when you left me for that pseud and then again

when you claimed that i’m still the love of your life

............................................................

you left me, sweet, two legacies, by emily dickinson