What If

What of the grand gestures of love?
If all I’d ever wanted was you
to read me like a book,
cover to cover like an old favourite.
Word to word.
The velvet binding now tattered.

Whisper me in the
quiet of the long nights.
Pronounce me, proud,
during day’s light.

What of you promising me forever?
If we are to die once born,
over and over.

What If all I’d wanted was to lie down on
the lush green earth,
or an yellow desert,
a rugged brown slope,
a singing sea cove?

What of turning me into a song?
If all I’d ever want is you
to sing the unsung.

What of your words?
If all I’d wanted was you
to lie down in silence with me,
The world is too full to talk about,
And only in silence, soul’s transpire.

I know,
Love is letting go,
Freedom not confinement.

But you’ll never know,
never loved a book,
never lived,
never sung,
never seen the dewdrop
on a leaf.
You exist in ignorance.
In lonesome darkness,
empty confinement.
In mindlessness.

And all I would ever need are mere
‘What Ifs’


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