My youth? Long gone,
and the now-young
have slashed their veins.

Our heady days are ash,
the wilderness of our dreams
has vanished like a mirage,

night smashed our hope, and we
had to swallow all that.
That’s destiny for you.

Why gather in the world
of yearning? Why not keep
us apart? Don’t ask me

how we got lost;
we were mixed up back then,
living love one day,

missing it the next,
so don’t blame me if I turn
our life into song: I live

in the poem’s ever-stream.
Do you see the clump of days
left like flowers in the night?

Don’t be like roses people
toss in the streets the way night
did us, destiny’s playthings.

Despite the map of my wounds,
I got lost. Despite the gag
of the past, I’ll sing on.