Relics from the past

 

She snubs, ricochets, recoils

like vintage motor’s crank handle,

Her muttering is like an argument

where everyone seems right

and wrong at the same time,

When she fights with him

she seems like a sailor

raising the gangplank

sail out and gone forever,

But she is right there and her presence

and absence are equally heavy.

 

In the transparent silence

of a sheltered cove in his heart,

she bangs, blasts, booms and boos

like a militant, atheist and anarchist,

He on the other hand

is always vexed and conciliatory,

The cheerings of a youthful past

try to console him,

As he lapses into glum reflections,

the memories draw him safe

from the hiccupping scorns and storms,

He seems festively fried, cooked, boiled

by the intensity of her persistent heat,

He walks hollowly with dreary steps,

But he knows it’s too late to part ways,

They have shared many decades,

With disorderly, downcast endurance

He surlily bears the nausea of life.

 

This is the woman I loved, he wonders,

He can’t hate her

but finds her the most irritable creature,

She feels the same about him,

Now he finds her a mere

cranky, villainous peace-guzzler,

She sees him as the summary and cause

of all her disappointments in life.

 

The domestic air ominously infuriated,

He just draws inspiration to life

from a few cuddle-animated moments

sired by youth’s pleasure-hunt,

She clings to life probably because

she still remembers her dream about a Knight,

Brooding over their morose consolations,

hard-pressed by time, the inveterate plunderer,

Bearing time’s hostile, incessant onslaught,

they draw the essence of life from stale breath;

from the sweet undertone of

those initial moments of pleasure

which were accepted as love by both.