Sunday, December 09, 2007

ThisJunction

However
I know the paper-thin chasm that separates us
We are on either side of a windowpane.
Privy to tears we cause but cannot wipe dry
To silent laughter and mirth-less joy.

And yet
I see every crease and line on your palm
As I struggle to feel its warmth against mine.
Tracing its outline- the map to our future
Running at arm’s length on parallel tracks, never to intersect.

In spite of
The duet we are trying to sing
Different lyrics to the same song.
While swans, they say, keep lifelong mates
I believe I hear the swan song already.

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