You need to know about the poor little devil

You need to know about the poor little devil

and the bamboo-coloured dust rising to cloud the view,

eating away at my inner sobriety.

You need to wish me good health

as I,feeble, lie listening to the rain beating down on the iron roof.

You need to love me; acknowledge my pitiful life

and let me pick the wooden splinters out of your crescent moon.

You need to know that I will not love you when you are not

expecting these happy children to run, free as the mountain winds.

I feel your impatience as I speak freely,

knowing that you will never slaughter my lambs.

I am astounded as you sip your green tchai

and talk of inhaling this pain in great gulps.

You need to know that I don’t care-

loving me would be like scraping the barnacles

and rust from both your and my common shadow.

The train of thought plays on parallel tracks-

You need to know that I am kind

wishing your orphaned loneliness company.

You need to know that I will die

when your blaze of glory settles in my heart.