“LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets…”

- The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T S Eliot

A Love Song

You and I on an October evening,

Follow those paths where

Work is relentless and people relentless too,

But “Thank god” we are not here today for them,

Indeed we have this day for ourselves today.

So we wish silence away, talking about the weather,

Those first words resounding from the hollowness within

Saying "It’s such a beautiful day today"

“Yes, indeed it’s so beautiful today”

And so we go into a bookshop with coffee tables,

Order two cappuccinos and devise means

To exercise the others tongue.

"So how have you been?"

(How have you been my friend?)

"I have been fine, thank you"

(Fine, exhausting my days in love)

And I quick to move the conversation toward a different light say,

“Look even the waiter smiles at us;

He thinks we look good together

He sees meaning in our togetherness.”

While a shaft of sunlight holds our attention,

To the dust , the still dust , the implacable dust

And you turn your attention to your hands,

That’s of that tender make,

I would have loved to fold it for a prayer

To the virgin who meditates,

But I also temptation on a bed of roses.

(I see loveliness there. Where? There. Where there?

Don’t you see nothing? Don’t you remember nothing,

“I can only remember those loving hands

That thrilled me. They are no longer there

Just limbs pushing each other around.”)

I am Godot come back,

Come back to relieve your wait,

With the meaning you have been looking for

Don’t you see your meaning?

Attired in an Armani suit.

A writer comes, a writer goes,

Talking about his latest works,

On matters of wisdom and the spirit
Amidst perfumed men and ladies

In the comfort of the air conditioning.

You shift uneasily,

Your eyes drop, you play with your phone

And tell me “You are a gentleman and such a good friend

What do I have but you?

But only its too late, too late to start again."

"No, I am not a gentleman

Nor was meant to be,

I have stumbled over the beggars bowl

And carry her curse with me,

Look, here is the badge of poverty she gave me".

I fall short

Of words,

Of people,

Of ceremony,

Of youth,

Of patience.

Now time is up,

Time is up,

We have to go,

Youll miss your soap operas

And ill miss my news at eight.

september 2006.