Krishna Angelina

Krishna Angelina,
I will leave—
wherever my eyes decide to wander.
The same eyes that found you once
beneath the martyrs’ monument,
where a single word could cost a life,
where desire bled into dream,
and pain returned like an old lover.
 
No!
I come back,
pressing my eyes against yours,
sharpening memory
like an unused, rusted sword.
I will strike—
somewhere,
in rage.
Or perhaps,
briefly,
I will only lose myself.
 
Krishna Angelina,
I will leave—
wherever my eyes decide to wander.
Because here,
in this country of place and time and choice,
I have already lost too much.
 
Your eyes—
their call was a theft.
Jealousy carried off my heart.
And you—
you spoke with an unfamiliar boy,
closer than a whisper,
while the astonished earth
pretended not to watch.
 
Krishna Angelina,
I will leave—
wherever my eyes decide to wander.
A sharp blade hidden,
in Othello’s fury,
I may lay it down somewhere,
or keep it swinging from my side—
my ancient Kurukshetra.
 
Or in some other war,
in some newer delirium,
I will drown again
inside your reckless trap.
If reason can erase sorrow,
then reason will erase
all your betrayals.