I would have been easier
If I knew how to lie.
If I knew how to hide.
If I knew how to pretend.
It would have been easier.
If I could lie to myself.
If I could hide it from myself.
If I could pretend to myself.
It would have been easier.
You would know,
Wouldn’t you?
You?
Instead the mermaid tries to swim against the current
Instead the she-wolf tries to run against the wind.
Instead the owl tries to hoot against the thunder.
Their faces sometimes look like yours.
Their voices sometimes mingle into yours.
Their stories sometimes echo yours.
But they are not you.
They are never you.
How could they be you?
Do I even know who you were?
A fading pantomime.
A deserted circus.
And the soldier returning home.
But where is home?
Or did your return to another wasteland?
Or did you return to another battlefield?
Or did you return to another arena?
The noble homeless knight
Lost in the fray.
Lost in the fog.
Lost in the forest.
Tumbling into my hut.
Tumbling into my embrace.
Tumbling into my healing balm.
This is the story I wrote for you.
Do you blame me love,
For still calling you love?
Do you blame me love,
For still longing for your return?
Do you blame me love,
For making stories to soap up your silence?
You thought I idealized you.
You thought I admired you.
You thought I imagined you.
Maybe I did,
But I also saw the homeless boy.
But I also saw the weak man.
But I also saw the naked soul.
and I stared right back.
Is it right to belong,
To someone who has already left?
To someone who has left no trace?
To someone who has never wanted it?
I understand your tiredness now.
I understand your wariness now
I understand your brokenness now.
I even understand why you had to go.
I carry you ghost when I say no.
I carry your ghost when I run away.
I carry your ghost when I refuse to try again.
What ghost were your carrying?
When I tried to find your gaze.
When I tried to to find your heart.
When I tried to find your soul.
and I only found hollow words.
It shouldn’t matter,
after so many glorious autumns.
It shouldn’t matter,
after so many unanswered letters.
It shouldn’t matter,
after so many scribbled pages.
It really shouldn’t,
But it stil does.
You were never mine.
Yet I remain yours.
Silly silly girl…
Yours.
Layla Ali Sultan 