We Were Supposed To Meet

 

 

We were, indeed, supposed to meet

On the street; In a pub

Or perhaps in a club dedicated to

The revival of modern poetry.

See, fate knows what she’s doing

And who’s wooing whom.

And why!

A far cry from the conventions,

The norms and established protocols

Of traditional courtship.

It’s a new world

A swirl; a mere banter and a busk

Accented by the fragrance of musk,

Wild flowers and pheromones.

I concede, We were indeed supposed to meet.

And that now done,

Laughter and the joy of friendship

Are a given.

Can I be forgiven for having

A line of creative thought

That may come to naught

Yet one that inspires me to write

A line or two in your admiration?

May I be excused to muse;

To ponder and to wonder

The direction and the extent

Of ideas dear to me.

And my fears.

Possibly they are all far from reality.

How cruel is Fate.

She weaves on a wicked loom.

How soon will she expose her real intentions?

If at all.

In her rush; Her ruse to confuse we, her mortal subjects.

Ah yes,

We were, indeed, supposed to meet.

 11-04-2002