If I be remembered
let it be, Kindness
that names me
A famous Poet, a real one from Chile
not a hypocrite of poetic illegitimacy, like me
titled a cherished work: ‘If you forget me’
how bold, I thought
such assured lines of resplendent sincerity
and of self-worth, dipped
in magnitude of owned fragility
I of jealousy, read
swallowing lumps of veracity
branded by poetic poignancy, looked away
but came scurrying back
to once more, delve fumes of ignominy
counting syllables
to life’s lullabies of disparity
for, if I could have scribbled
of similar
after-I’m-gone, sentiments
its title, alone
deprecating, my traversed slalomed cliff edges
finding tethers to belonging’s equity, ever wanting
skidding - when stopping, would have been heroic
squealing - when stoic restraint, would staved-off regret
surrendering - when fighting, would’ve given existence
meaning
enveloped in horror scenes of rear-view mirror
burnt bridges.
No, if I penned
a work of self-remembrance
I would
beg for mercy, as a title
and implore, any
to remember me
if at all
with what pitied forgiveness
they had to spare
yet another
wannabe poet, sharing
an Icarus fate
finding dreams, too far
out of reach…
© L. B. Mek
July 2020