I cannot climb the Matterhorn again
My heart is no Whymper now. My wounded heart
Recovered on time to bite an apple with my own teeth.
And she keeps the doctor away.
And she reads Heidi as she goes to bed
And tells me she wants to see where the Shephard girl
Grew, the land of St Bernard dogs and Alp horns
And I tell her next year, my love.
I have a wreath in my midst though, one of friendship.
An offer as honest as the healed wounds in my heart
And all I ask for is a conversation or maybe a verse…..
History will always be a part of me, my friend.
And there are no flames in me. Just the curiosity
As how your orbitals run around you. Whether
You finished your Ph.D. thesis and how is that little
Princess growing in your shadow……
Maybe one day, we will meet in the shadow of the Alps.
Maybe we can introduce our life accomplices
And not be strangers any more. I am only fond of
A reality that I’m fearful for – that we will die as strangers
When we once lit up each-others worlds in landslides of e-mails
And the occasional photograph and letter.
I promise you, I don’t carry Tobelorone dreams anymore.
Just a man who longs to know the whereabouts of your heart.
The places you navigate, even travel
To let your heart tick, even palpitate
In the cadences only mirth can usher in.
Star-crossed friends is one of my greatest fears…..
And all I ask for is a rendez-vous, not on Verona’s balcony
Or beneath Eiffel tower, just in a sleepy little office town
In Heidi’s land….
Just tell me, can I dream
Of saying “hello” to you in my broken French?