a train called love

[anirbas]

in the outback fringes
of love where romance
becomes angst and pain
on the cusp of letting go
and starting over again

bitterness and salvation
are to be found
in equal increments

loss of the routine past
and a grasping groping
clasp that reaches
for the future
from the abyss
of the present

remembering what was
and clothing what wasn't
in the colors of illusion
in the outback fringes
of love where romance
becomes angst and pain

there is where
we find ourselves
where we regain
who we were what we wanted
before we were mowed down
by a train called love

Anirbas aka Nir.

Jan. 27th, 2009

[artolmaeus]

how can one avoid standing on those tracks
and I will play a harmonica for each and every dirge
of love lost or of innocence broken
and like a Japanese teacup pieced back together
with gold
I have no forge for that, not even a torch and solder
maybe just some ticky tack
bric-a-brac
but to not run headlong down those tracks
how can one do that
you never run faster till you first fall down
and get back up unafraid of the fall
and like Icarus into an open sky, feeling the warmth of the sun enough to melt the wax
the glory is in the fall,
maybe in the falling
it is the landing part which hurts
for it is when the falling stops
damn Newton and his figs
or Adam and Eve and their fig leaves
or Lucifer and his pride and arrogance
or just the I that finds that beam
and along with the seem
stand on the tracks
like living a dream
waiting like a hobo
to catch a train called love
and not just the side car
or just the caboose
but maybe the engine
and with all those coals
let loose!!