I wanted to write something
lovely, for you. Carefully
crafted, words wrapping and
flowing in an almost silent
certain sweet persuasion, a
charm to hold you, like the
small steps of a child over
sidewalk cracks. A charm I
held against the dark, like
wishing on a wishbone, star
or birthday candles (I did,
so many times) to hold you.
Oh hell.
And it’s all gone smash, or if it hasn’t yet, it will and sometimes
sometimes I just wonder why I even bother.
As if you cared about poetry anyway.
*****
M.A. Mohanraj
November 21, 1996