Friday, October 24, 2014


I wonder what it is to kill a life
Sneaking surreptitiously into the clinic,
With fear, sometimes shame,
At other times desperation.
Fending off uncomfortable questions,
“Married?”, “ Unmarried?”, “Love?”, “Drunk?”.
And then scalpel and metal,
And a life which could have been
Ceases to breathe.
I kill dreams every night,
One abortion past midnight
That’s what my appointment diary says.
In bed when I see the distant blinking of the stars,
I throttle and sigh for the astronaut I couldn’t be.
The aeroplane that flies away
That somber thunder from its engines,
Assaults the evening by the Thames,
That I willed myself into believing
Would be mine one day.
With every squabble
I cease to be the man I wished to be,
Fading like half remembered dreams
Which walk backwards into oblivion.
Every day I kill myself, bit by bit,
Amidst screaming hawkers
Grumbling housewives
And stumbling principles.
In the half shut eyes
Of a sterile revolution,
Little by little,
I give myself up.
And like cars rushing at GET SET GREEN,
Days whizz by
And my dreams crawl towards their premature graves,
And a life which could have been
Ceases to breathe.

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