Don’t weep over me
When all but my shadow
Remains.
Don’t remember me
When I’m gone.
Burn
My memories to ashes.
Turn away your face
From me.
For I don’t belong to you,
And I
Don’t belong to me.
My words
Are my life, and I created them
To be
Uncorrupt, to remain
Unscathed with the passing
Of time.
My words are faithful
Servants of love,
They nurture not hate,
But fathomless
Affection.
My words worship
The sublime. And with
Reality
My words weave dreams.
Remember my words,
For I belong to them.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Remembrance
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2 Comment:
What I really appreciate about this poem is the way you have deconstructed and reconstructed or rather created your identity with words, through words themselves. It has a very Eliotesque tone, brings back memories of Hollowmen
@Madzee : Madhu, as I read this comment I am thinking, do I really deserve this? T. S. Elliot is a man I literally worship. I fell in love with him since I read The Lovesong Of J. Alfred Prufrock for the first time. So, today if my writing has a glimpse of Elliotesque tone in it, I think I would call myself successful as a dreamer and a writer. This would be one of the comments that I would cherish throughout my life.
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