Skewer and Feed

I remember you,
The shape of your voice as you called to me
From the corners.
You surprised me by wearing, not black,
But pastels,
As if to throw me off your path and purpose.

Vivid was the luster of the jade
You wore to festoon your ears,
Gleaming pale green
Like the irises of dragons —
A splash of color to conceal the penumbra
Of your presence.

Languid hung the linen of the hood
You wore to shroud your head,
Gentle lavender and heather hues
Like the feathers of woodnymph hummingbirds —
A smoke screen to conceal the gravity
Of your collapsing-star soul.

Do you look the same
When you appear to others?
Or do you vary the tactics of your disguise —
An emotional chameleon,
Subtly altering its scales
Depending on the nature of the host it clings to?

I remember how you would
Appear in the dust haze of my defeats;
How you would follow in the footfalls of my fury.

Spirit spearfisher,
You stood astride my torrents,
And skewered my soul,
Sinking your hooks into its fabric
And submerging me in your miasma.
Hello, Melancholy.

I remember you.
Why do you call so many
To languish in your torpor?
Is it that you nourish yourself
On our anxiety?
Or do you simply yearn for our company?

I thought I had you licked —
Figured out all your… machinations.
But your shadow casts a shadow of its own
On my soul,
And I realize,
It is simply that my triggers have changed.

Ever a patient thing,
You wait for bursts of hope
To flicker out.
Then, in the gathering darkness,
You loom,
Peering at me from underneath your gauzy linen hood.

“Never give in!” I rail,
Quoting Winston Churchill to draw strength
From his legend.
You, from your perch among the cobwebs,
Blow the pages of his biography
Open to the famine of the Bengals.

You persist, not only in memory,
But in the languor of dreams,
And in the dread that haunts my days,
Now that my country insists on
Undoing itself.
You’ve been a stalwart companion,

Melancholy,

Yet why do I suspect that you
Will finally flee my side,
Only at the end,
When my soul has departed,
And there is nothing left for you
To skewer, and feed upon?