by Siddiq Islam

I

Upon my door a little knock.
I hardly even hear it, yet
Some people whom I’ve barely met
Are asking if I’ll join their flock,
Accompany their mutual travels
To where their night unwinds and ravels.

But each new tale and anecdote
Reminds me of the soft decease
Of memories I must release,
And each fresh lady I devote
Sacred embrace to till the morrow
Will fill me with this tranquil sorrow.

I daren’t bid solitude goodbye,
For if I let them intervene
And bridge this lonesome gap between,
My memories of you will die,
Exchanged for my new social dwelling
– but those do not seem quite worth selling.

II

Upon my door a little knock.
They’ve caught me frozen, stuck in thought.
‘Should bits of minds be shipped and bought?’
The light tap gives a startling shock,
Such is my stupor where I’m lying.
I stay reluctant, unreplying.

Shall I abstain from all new fun
To save each mental souvenir
Of summer spent with you this year?
I’d have to tell them I am done,
And also have to close my covers
To these other, foreign lovers.

If I’m to stifle new emotion,
Then, my hometown sweetheart, you
Prevent me forming friendships new,
And all to savour past devotion.
To seize the present, I must trade
Those remnants of the past we made.