As the slow servile past
Creeps on our backs
I will speak a tale or two
Some hopeless narrative that shoots
Some fervor into our spirits

Your timidness won’t have a place
It will swing like a pendulum
In between those raspy notes
Of self sufficiency.

And as the dust of your soul
Will settle down on your pride
You will honk at me
Call me with the names,
Metaphors and analogies that
You so dearly etched onto me

You may shout my name
Like a rhyme that has been
Recited too often
That the heart knows the joy,
The muscle memory
The motility of perfect synchronization

I will be summoned
I will be remembered
For my skills with your brain
For my familiarity with your heart.

And maybe not that long ago
I might have seen myself there
I might have shouted your name a few times
But not today
Not now
Not when you have sold your soul
To better prospects
To a better life.

You won’t be a discarded letter
Or a Song that doesn’t have no singers no more
But a Poem, a verse
Left forever between two pages
Of a book.


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