bastard

our love
was a bastard child
you were strong
and held your earlier one to your bosom
with strength of mountains

the merry little one
you wish could have
remained in womb
never to come out.

you refuse to kill it
and wish to keep it away
the bastard has a soul too
it would rather die than be orphaned

let it crawl back
into you and dissolve
in your heart
it will be reborn
on the new day
of someone else.

born again

i tell myself that i
covet you
a disease that can be undone.
but my symptoms
make me fear of something terminal
of love requited
in uncertain measures
and of love in spite.

of possibility that
had been erased
but for the
intertwined lives.

another flower must bloom
on the grave of our memories
i must die
and be born again.