I named her a learned fool,
For she breaks her heart in a platter,
Knowing that she would anyway,
I named him simply nostalgia,
For he exists in the realm of make-believe,
Claiming that he would anyway.
Masks intact, they circle each other,
Ever careful of the landmines of past,
Routine of now and the ghost of their future,
Perhaps it's the fool,
Who craves non-existence,
Perhaps it's the nostalgia,
That cannot exist without foolishness.
Don't you find this tiring? I ask,
What is? Her voice echoes with his,
This endless dance of possibilities?
I see masks slipping off their faces,
Bright-eyed they looked ecstatic.
Stunned, I exclaimed such foolishness!
Their laughter echoes,
This is life, the reason we exist,
Believe what you will,
It is but the possibilities that we exist.
Nostalgic FoolFear... Hope.
By Serena Korangi