You’re on limited profile
Wondering what it could be you’re running away from:
Surely, that past is far from of what one would speak
And if the door was not fastened when you eased out your butt
It was more for convenience – but, he won’t tweak.
Like representation given without
Devolved power to entail –
Is it that to block, to reject, to unfriend completely
There is some guilt, hurt that you first must atone for?
He’s on your Facebook, by name, true Sri Lankan style.
You tell him, then, between tea
Or you don’t tell him it at all – and
When he finds there’s nothing to find
Except the unclickable plaster doll
As a profile picture made permanent by an inaccessible wall
He will sigh slyly or wonder
Damn, had I fucked her at all,
Would sperm-wastage have increased, like John thought of Paul?
Resigned to role play a Provincial Council,
Staying tune in case national elections are called.
What Aristotle wouldn’t tell you, let me – Bard – with softness
Break down to you like bread: Social Networking,
Very much like politics, has not many eternal foes to dread.
The run is as far as the precipice comes; and there if she cares to turn
The Past is a willing, mind-humbling entry, with much that’s vain to burn.