There are many romantics
out here, some write poetry,
some daydream, some wait
for the internet to find
them their true love.
/
Some leave poetry on
strangers’ tables and disappear.
Some light candles.
While a few even get dates.
Those with charming manners
Or unearthly beauty
find love or at least a first-imitation
Of it because appearance
Is the folly of human perception.
/
And then there are those who sit and
Wait before workplaces and colleges,
markets and houses, that their
object of affection will give them
a glance. I wish not to be
confused by the vaayunokki type.
But thin, blurred lines exist between
Romantics and these roadside Romeos.
/
Oh and yes, the silent admirers
whose affectionate may die
and will still not let a word slip.
/
But I pray, I pray tonight,
with all the butter lamps, incense and hope,
that all these romantics here,
myself included of course,
find the vessel of our affections.
Someone who doesn’t necessarily have to be
hopelessly in love with us
But needs to be sensitive of our journey,
of our fluttering hearts and elaborate daydreams.
They have to be patient with us,
Allow us to settle because our perplexed
heart, tired from the waiting, needs to catch
a breath, before to you, it gives it all away.
Nostalgia hits me as Soul Outside (composed by Antonio Pinto) plays and I type in perhaps my last post from my darling desktop, for this month. I’ll be back home, in June. Until then…
{blinks} 