Soliloquy

I wish upon you good health and more happiness
than I could ever perceive as possible to give
to you. To be able to sneak perchance into the
possibilities that we had thought outlandish,
to be able to walk away unattached from the
growing pains of this lingering darkness-
in this new year, I hope you have the light.

These glances of inhuman distances that
have crossed our paths now may have been
painted specifically to prevent you from holding my hand.
If only love was there to guide our stars when
we had lain unaware of the protocol of this
flirtationship that was broken quite often.
When your eyes seek mine and I am unable

to give you the reassurance that his welcoming
smile does, the wind howls in laughter inside my ears.
How difficult must it be to let the words out in the open,
to allow the freezing gusts of despair wrap its
arms around your knees and beg for forgiveness?
I hope you have peace and the ability to look
at me impartially but not dispassionately this year.

I hope that you give everything that you have to give
to the one you love, and I do not ask that to be me,
for I have long understood and escaped from the confines
of such ultimata that have gripped our insides.
These insides burn with a fire which must
not be doused, and I hope you never have to pour
water upon the flame of love that you glow upon.

You look beautiful even when you walk away
from me, and I surmise that it would remain
so even when we have forgiven the crimes that
passion and its synonyms had alleged upon us.
If I had the strength to give, then I would have
gladly made room for the acquiescence with
which you stood up and asked me to stay.

Whatsoever became of the promises we had made,
whatsoever is left of them have now long disappeared
to the realms of an inordinately cold, windswept autumn.
It is still winter now, and although it won’t stay that
way for long, I have every reason to believe
that the moment when our fingertips touched,
it did not mean anything to you at all.

Whatever hollow guarantees we have remaining
glance furtively at my early morning overtures,
and I hope you never have to know what I think of
when I walk past your house where you lie sleeping.
And of course, like Vikram Seth, I hope that the sun
burns my footprints upon your lawn, and holds
you continually in its warmth and keeping.