the arsonist and the environmentalist

the year 
was nineteen
eighty four

i was a child
that year
a child of 
nine
or maybe a year
more

there was a day
that year
that year 
a long time ago

a kind of day
when the afternoons
seem to go on 
till evenings
and the nights
are spent on porches

that was the day
when i had decided
who i wanted to 
be
and what i wanted to do


childhood
puberty
adolescence
were kept on hold

that was the day
i achieved 
clarity 
my thoughtful 
duality

an arsonist
and an environmentalist
i had decided
to be

ever since 

i burn 
i burn
and protect
all that is sacred
and all that is loved
sometimes with words
and sometimes 
with smothering acts of kindness
the one next to me
and the one miles away
equally

i tear down things
í build with my own hands
tear them down with my teeth
and then gather the torn
ripped off pieces
and keep them in a jar
of organic formalin
to preserve for later

if there is a later

my backyard
a repository
for your viewing pleasure
ample footprints
of the arsonist 
and the environmentalist
marked all around

around those burnt remains 
of a relationship with those 
two 
who sired me

and under that seared
old heavy metal gate
a potted flowering plant 
once a purple chrysanthemum
now white
one which 
i caringly nurse back
to the colour of its origin
and i do see some
familiar hues coming back
on its face

there is evidence
of both
all around

the places
i left
a little greener
and the places
that i left
after burning them down

the places with
charred walls
and places
with 
warm
blossoming hearts

and every once in a while
both have a quiet casual
private 
conversation
the arsonist
a drunk sentimental
and the environmentalist 
who doesn't care

i guess it is fair
i guess it is fair
that the two exist together
together
with shades 
that overlap
with no clear cut
marked off territories
no boundaries
setting the two apart

i celebrate that day
in the year
nineteen
eighty four
when i was nine
or maybe a year more
the day
i learnt about the
chaotic coexistence 
of opposites 
in one being
and that it could 
very well have been 
a predestined necessity

i celebrate this 
tearingly soothing day
the day
i achieved dichotomy

the fiddlers