Dear Neruda

On some nights, Neruda,
I think of you
And I skim through your lines
with a mind amok
with images
From your world
And mine.

They are not the same Neruda.
They dont stay the same
for me everytime either.
Yet on some such nights
I think of you
And your lines

Hoping to breathe and live
with similar fire and snow
and rain and aridity
What my nights bring to me.


But only on some nights, Neruda,
I think of you and your lines

On other nights
My mind runs amok
with thoughts
I peddle through
day in day out
Forgetting
The images of my nights.

On those nights Neruda,
I  hit the sack
Dead tired
Without a wink or a dream.

On those nights Poetry
And the fire, snow.
rain and aridity of feelings
become textbook matter
locked away
In forgotten cupboard corners.

And you, Neruda,
Become just another
Fading gilt edged Label
on the spine
of oft read volumes...