Yeat You Were So Far Gonne: The Last Call

By Shree Banerjee

Love started here.

I found love in your zeal for war,

as though I’d lost you by fault;

You became the ethos of my art,

Then left me, love, to play your part;

I sought again what I had lost to you,

But letting go was your true virtue;

For when my heart forgot to love,

and you returned it not, for it was yours to keep;

I placed you on a pedestal so high above,

that reaching out to you felt like a dream;

Oh Maud, what a joy to build a Troy of lies,

And watch it burn within your glorious eyes;

When you spoke of Ireland, I spoke of you,

What you felt for her, I felt for you;

Soon you became the joy of his life, his bride, his pride

while this broken mirror was left to rust, to capture your lips inside;

So, here’s my last hope of calling out to you, my bright flame

Be it my doom to love you, for I take the blame.

And it ended here. 

By Shree Banerjee