Why do you sing of them?

Because he loved me the least and he hurt me the most.
Because somewhere I got tired of still waters.
I fell for tsunami waves, crashing on my shore
destroying every little piece of me. I hated him in the beginning.
I hated him in the end, but somewhere in between
I fell in love with the idea that the roar in his waters was meant for me.
He screamed and cried, and I cried too. And somewhere there
I began to see the words and melody that formed on my lips. It was
magic. But the painful kind.

Because we once pretended to be Siamese twins who did not know
life without each other. Because we promised we would never go our own
way for best friends could never not be best friends. But then, life
chose different fates for us and we chose different journeys and sometime,
if I see her across the road, I will smile and so will she; but we will
no longer be what we once were. I still know the darkest thoughts and secrets
of her time. But I will not tell and in my heart, I am desperate that she
will also never tell. For some dark things ought to be concealed
and never to be touched by gentle rays of hazy light.

Because he loved me the most though I loved him the least.
And he would follow me for days, just for a smile in the midst
of his chaotic existence. He wanted me to sing and he
begged me to join him so we could sing together, but I
never liked him enough. He wasn’t what I dreamed of, he just wasn’t
enough. And somewhere in the thick of that thirst for more,
I began to fall for what I knew I would never want,
an awareness of an intrinsic power I possessed. The evil of
cognition and knowledge is sometimes what leads a man to depravity,
so I sang a song to calm the tempest in my heart, to let
myself know that I am also not enough.

Because I was drawn to her popularity and fame and nothing more.
Her sport did not matter and the scars on her heart and face were
irrelevant as the hate her friends harbored against my immature self.
I was young back then, or at least my mind was and in that thirst
to be powerful, recognized and relevant, I stooped to give away
my heart and dignity. Years later, I’d cry as I thought of all the
trials I sought, blinded by adolescent priorities and nights of abusive
dreams. But somewhere along the path of the trellis tears on my face,
I found harmony amidst remorse, regret and redemption.

Because he was my best friend, the kind that wasn’t showcased on
the wall of my dreams or framed in the digital wood of yours.
And somewhere I got tired of raising my hands up in the air,
of telling my problems to those who I knew would only bite me for them.
I loved the calm in his voice, for the politics that he loved and
the ambition he nurtured. Perhaps most of all, I liked him because
he never thought much of me. He was never going to sing any songs for me.
And I would never be good enough. But in the beauty of rejection,
I found myself making music and writing songs about a love
that never was and never to be.

I began writing this poem about a year ago and at the time, I wrote of a single experience of one person and one relationship only. But as I continued to add small details here and there, and as I rewrote and reedited this poem every few months, it evolved into a very personal piece about things, experiences and people that have completely changed my life, each in a different way. I do not know how good of a poem this is in the literary sense, but I do know this is pain, love, life, friendship and relationships channeled into creative writing. Every poem or story I’ve ever written has been personal in some way or the other. But this poem is even more so and that is why it has taken me long to complete it and even longer to put it out.

Photo credit: Pieter Musterd / Foter.com / CC BY-NC-ND



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