Untitled, as you have changed from decades to centuries and still remained without a name, so have I wondered around all through these years in search for your namesake.
When you were a woman, I was a shy sophomore. I was unforgivingly romantic and shuddered at the idea of taking my clothes off. I was punch drunk in love and I couldn’t put my feet together at any instant.
When you were anonymous friends and fleeting lovers, I was bright, aspiring and pompous. I was a trickster, cheating over cards on the table. I moved along with the lights and the gypsies.
When you were the man, I was the woman. I made a home and lit it with lamps. I gathered and waited. loved and remained at my place, stationary. I suffered irrevocably.
Untitled, I have left with a note. In it I promised you love and remembrance. I am not a seamstress otherwise I would have sewn my biddings together instead of making them into a bundle with a knot.
In all these years as you changed from man to woman to life and to me, I could not name you as you. But all my biddings, my hopeless romances, my letters, my poems remain yours undoubtedly.
Keep them. They are for keepsake.


M. said...

aaaah. even though on the surface this looks like a personal post, and meybe i shouldnt poke my nose in it, i wanted to say i do miss the kind of writing i was used to on your blog a year ago.

signed -
a. lurker.

reema said...

@M: it seems to me that u've been a secret reader. but i have no opinion on ur opinion..as i dont quite understand ur basis.


M. said...

ah. i was referring to posts like these:


you've always had interesting things and perspectives to make. ;)