Lyre / Liar
©February 6th, 2018
By Vijaya Sundaram
What does it mean to break your word?
I carry mine carefully, mindful of pitfalls,
Stepping lightly through deserts and forests.
Sometimes though, I break it – okay, often.
And it’s always the same thing: I promised,
I ‘d go to sleep early tonight. I did.
My husband, patient, long-suffering,
Said, “Get some sleep.” I promised.
I said to him, “I won’t write tonight.”
I said it with full and perfect intent.
Instead, I sit here, banjo on my lap,
Picking and strumming, and humming.
Sleep is so near, so deliciously close,
And yet, I spurn it with callous laughter.
Still, I must keep my word to my husband,
And to myself – Oh, I keep breaking promises!
I am a creature of whim and feathers.
I tried to keep my appointment with my Muse,
But I failed, I failed utterly. I cannot write
A poem about not being able to write one.
My Muse has fled from me like Daphne from Apollo,
But I’m no Apollo either, I play no lyre,
Although music speaks to me
The same as it speaks to him.
Never mind. I lie to myself, I’m a liar.
I said I would sleep early. I lied.
And now, I shall redeem myself.
I shall court other Gods now,
Come, Hypnos, Morpheus, Oneiroi!
I shall wait for you till the end of Time.
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