When you return to me
After a hard day’s work:
After five hundred and forty minutes
Of standing with strangers,
Talking and trying to make a sale
To people who know nothing
Of how strongly you love;
After sitting through spare minutes
Of thinking of what I could be doing
At that very moment,
After working (hard)
At what makes me proud of you –
When it’s not necessary at all;
After loving me,
Through those five hundred and forty minutes,
You come back to me –
To tell me you love me,
I cannot help but want
To hold your hand
And never let go.
I cannot help but love,
Love you forever.
I wonder many times, oh-stranger-like-me,
Of how it would be
If you perhaps come across these lines
And smile (or perhaps shed a tear) and think
This heart’s so much like me.
If I would write of how love passed me by –
And you would not question why
I was thinking of throwing myself to the ground
From the terrace of a building.
If I would mention how love returns –
And yet incessantly burns,
With a sharpness and sting
That makes all wonder on the need of this thing.
Would you, stranger-like-me, think of this?
Have you hoped for immortal bliss
And settled for earthly disillusionment?
A neglectful youth arising from abuse –
Of what I have gained and what I shall lose?
Do you – would you – have any reckoning?
I have loved again and now I find
That love alone can torture the mind;
By the lack of words or a stronger voice,
Have you ever had the pressure of choice?
Have you ever thought he never wrote back?
What didn’t I give? What did I lack?
Now, I have loved again. Do you think:
What if it all passes again in vain…?
Then did you scowl and write
In your way of scribbling down black on white,
That being held by some one once again
Is worth so much of all this pain?
If you do feel even the slightest bit
Of the emotions my heart knits…
Know also, stranger-like-me,
I write for eternity.
In the heat of the sun, you came with me,
Forsaking ties that could bind you right fast,
And all that I could think of, so vainly,
Was if what you feel for me could e’er last.
You looked to my feet, when I looked ahead,
Trying t’see what destiny has in store,
For your thoughts, so simply with actions wed,
Were to prevent my falling down once more.
In the dark, you held me with promises,
Since I wept, for I would not see you soon.
Oh, to make them last! Those words and kisses
And that coolness of that pale, summer moon!
But, I trust you, so I write this in rhyme:
I’ll let my heart follow love one more time.
(Episode One – 16th November 2001)
I never did like you.
That I think you know.
You must have known,
When we left you in that cage:
Locked from home and things familiar.
Your mind being physically jerked.
You lying there,
Quiet in your vomit;
Lying there and looking at me,
Up at me, with your chin on the floor,
Looking with eyes that don’t see –
But speak volumes:
Liquid, soft, scared – quiet.
We are all brought here somehow,
To suffer somehow,
And survive somehow, with life or with death.
But somehow – somehow – you should be exempt from all of this.
Yet there you were –
As I left for home –
Dry nose against clapped iron,
After three days of fast,
Three days of gut wrenches,
Three days of muted pain.
All rewarded by an indefinite exile in Howl Hole.
(We have it far easier –
At least there is someone
I never did like you.
But if they would
I would be waiting outside.
That I think you know.
(Episode Two – 19th November 2001)
You were quiet and weak.
They were non-committal and complacent.
We were ignorant of all
But your suffering – or were we?
I misunderstood your yells
As you lay immobile – pierced everywhere.
Fed you with trickles of water,
After a five day fast.
What were they like to you?
And the nights?
What horror did you feel –
Alone – in a cage – sick to the bone?
My punishment is my regret.
If any consolation
(If one can call it that)
Is when you returned home:
Within mere minutes,
You were at peace.
Those round and bulging and luminous eyes!
And those ears that hung outward like a bat!
An expression of a Pug in disguise –
Mobile even before the drop of the hat!
Tawny coloured, alert and bendy-backed,
A flimsy walk and a non-chalant air,
Quite a few faults I know he did not lack,
A will that would make him pick any dare.
That was Rolfe, whom some call my second best –
E’en I used to think so up until now –
Now that he has passed the Ultimate Test:
To prove I loved him anyway and how!
Angels came and took him from us today,
I loved him – guess that’s all I wanted t’say.