like starting war,

like spilling ink.

like the empty street

you swore you saw

before you blinked.

there’s no second thought,

there’s no turning back.

there’s no calling off

this avalanche.


every day, now spent

underneath white flags.

every intention, eclipsed

by every stain of the past.

there’s no argument-

fairness is a ghost.

there’s no argument-

it is a rare bird at the most.

but every sighting is proof.

and every heart-beat proves it too:

that only love can change the shape

of such permanent truths.

of such permanent truths.

such permanent truth.