and i wish, dream, yearn

of old times.

they’re gone aren’t they?

how things used to be,

were they ever real?

you say grow up/

fade away – complex,

that’s your verbiage,

complexity to erase everything

and how can i point fingers

when that too is the reason i give to all?

and how are we both wrong … …

not at all,

not in the least bit,

then why is there this stab

of something amiss?

i, you, we do not know

maybe life wasn’t as cracked as it is said to be.

you started it first,

fairy tales, childhood stories,

you said this is to protect childhood,

the experts have stamped their approvals.

i asked: were the experts ever wrong?

and who decides what wrong is?

of which you declined to answer,

seeing i was adamant

to argue … …

now we sleep side by side

two tombstones in a land no one visits,

weeds grow everywhere

and i, you we miss the old days

the old days of myth – unspoiled, untainted eden,

it could not keep up with reality.

splash,

bury it again: this angst not to be written on tombstones.

what a merry go around,

weeds grow everywhere,

it feels right, it feels good, it feels correct,

it has always been weeds we took for hope,

we took for absolution –

death now.

sleep now.

an eternal sleep,

when livid grievances never will they end.