No. I Am No Neruda. I Am Me
And hear this in this, in this, the moment of your impudent abondon
When you choose to ignore the calling of your head, and flow with your heart.
In this the fragile moment that you live to love me, in all the honesty of your being.
In this the moment that you believe in me, and hence begin to be yourself.
In this, the moment that your silences speak louder than your song.
In this the moment that you seek to find me
In your being. In this the moment that I flow in your veins at your calling.
And in this the moment that your heart beats to my tune.
I am not you and it is true.
I am. But I am only what you make of me. Make me.
And in this moment of the mayhem in my mind, that you have inspired me
To flow unto you like a wave in the sea.
And have caused me to precipite in the snow flakes upon your palm.
I have no choices.
But to confess. That I am you, and nothing but you.
No.It was not me that held your hand on the mountain trail.
No. It was not me that you kissed, when you kissed the flowers.
In resplendent magentas, purples and violets.
Perhaps, it was the fragrances that you believed to be me.
No. I was not the cadence of your crooning.
I was the hymn, that you inscribed on your soul, and just blamed me,
No. it was not me. You were me.
No. It was not us that looked at each other.
I looked at you and you imbibed me with all the flavour, the fervour, the flourish of the the moment that ceased to be me.
Because in that the moment of infinite sadness of you being me, I was you.
No. It was not me who said yes, said be me.
Because I remember you, and what you said. You said you were me.
And, in that the moment I was with you, you were me.
And now that you are not here, I am me. So come.
There is nothing that stops you.
Stops you from being me.
It is because I am you,
That you are me.
I am no Neruda.
But in the moment you are with me,
I am me.
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