Cremated Love

Two souls, dancing the times
One foot forward, two times
To the side, the other, and back
Back to each other’s arms
Took a step back, two, three
A stab to the heart, it was
The sounds of their footsteps
Towards their separate distances
As they danced, drifting away
Two, three, and more feet away

Two beings statued together, a light of the town
Crafting their silhouette, a shaft of light through the hall of fame
The talk of the town, fame has had its toll on their shine
Two, three, and more times, they’ve fallen to tame and shame
Tears flood what has turned to be flames
Like a waterfall falling from the rocks
Are the tears from the aflame eye sockets
Rumbles from the heart’s rhythms
As the mighty statue begins to tumble
Crumbles from emotional harbours
As the silhouette fades into grey shades
What used to be, now turning into ashes
Ashes that will never, in forever, release a phoenix
In a cemetery, cremated love lies hopelessly

Mongi C. Nkabindze

“If you grow old, it is your own fault,”
I say to Terry as we climb
the mountain behind his cabin.
Terry is wearing a device that transmits his heartbeat
by cell phone to doctors at Stanford.
Terry has a flutter, nothing serious, probably.
Terry has a great heart, actually,
something serious, warm and wise.

We ascend this hill on Tuesdays every week
discussing poetry and plumbing, our twin passions:
the gathering of mountain water funneled into pipes,
delivered to homes,
the ordering of words funneled into pages
delivered nowhere, sadly.

We discuss friends fallen or falling,
the arc of marriages, parenthood, oddball relationships,
each a story and a puzzlement,
webs woven of love and rage.
That, and motorcycles, we talk,
pacifist veterans who walk still seeking sense
of an incomprehensible war that shaped our lives.
Objectors, conscientious, we realized too late,
not an easy path but better than following orders.
We walked away from war.
He, the Air Force; I, the draft.
Branded dishonorable.
So we hike, hearts pounding,
the simple friendship of two old men
seeking the hilltop
again and again.