By Rajababu

HIS ACCUSATIONS
You do not have a Heart in you,
You operate on the Gyrations of your fickle brain.
You do not empathize with others
I doubt if you realize what empathy is.
Your goals ruthlessly browbeat other's aspirations,
You wish to drag me along with you
To your painful, self-created, dark horizon.
You feel our future will be very great,
You have spoilt our past; you are on the verge,
Of vandalizing our present, my present


You care nothing for my aspirations and dreams,
You do not realize that you are trampling it,
I have to remind you, even then, all that you do is
TO present me with a brand new dream,
Your dream
You expect me to shudder with you at your nightmares,
And spin the magical yarns that you weave,
When I know not what stuff
Dreams are made of, how can I revel in someone else's dreams?


You snap at me when your love is not satiated
You hardly bother whether I share your passion or not;
You expect me to perform as a robot, yet emote as a man;
I have now forgotten both these roles
I accuse you of all these things, and more
These, which shall remain forgotten under the heap,
Of your over-assertive ego.




HER ACCUSATIONS
You have too much of emotions in you,
I'd rather you'd not operate your brains;
Why do you show so much sympathy around you?
You know nothing else apart from empathy,
I have to lend you all your goals, you have none.


I am ashamed to drag you along with me,
Horizons are never painful and bad, atleast one,
Must have a horizon to comment on it,
Your inertia has resulted in our painful past;
Its effect has sullied our present, our only hope;
Is the dream of the future.
Your aspirations are sandcastles during high tide,
Time and tide seem to effortlessly knock it down,
When you came complaining to me, the least I could
Do is to lend out one of my own;


You get away from me during my nightmares,
You do not help in carving out our sculpturous destiny,
You refuse to believe in the tapestry of dreams.
And ruthlessly wish to bury our heads in the sand,


You realize not that it takes a pair to make love,
You regard it as something of my responsibility;
I do not ask you to behave like a man, least like
An unthinking machine,
I beseech you to be yourself,
I don't accuse you of all these at all,
Let us bury these under the carpet, for without you
My dreams, my passions, my aspirations are zilch.

-A poem by Rajababu.