Radio-hearts*
If hearts were radios and each would find the frequencies
they thought would be suitable to them,
mine would find his.
Or so I'd thought.
And for some time we zoned in on each other's,
tweaking in and tweaking high,
never out and never low.
they thought would be suitable to them,
mine would find his.
Or so I'd thought.
And for some time we zoned in on each other's,
tweaking in and tweaking high,
never out and never low.
So it stayed for that some time.
For we were never one.
Only zoning in and tweaking high,
absorbing each other's buzzes,
sharing music and stories and news,
and likes and dislikes,
and more often than not just listening,
tuning in on each other's frequencies,
content in a private, outsider way.
For we were never one.
Only zoning in and tweaking high,
absorbing each other's buzzes,
sharing music and stories and news,
and likes and dislikes,
and more often than not just listening,
tuning in on each other's frequencies,
content in a private, outsider way.
At times our frequencies crossed.
At times our frequencies found each other.
At times I had so fervently hoped,
that at the time our frequencies intertwined,
we'd finally broadcast in a singular, unified occurence,
that was ours.
Our frequency.
That time came and went.
And came and went again.
And the last time it came, it went out the door.
My radio-heart was tired.
Of tuning in to an irresponsive air,
which would not blow its way.
And so it honed in on another,
a different transmission this time,
it was content in its own way,
a different type of comfort,
a luxurious pleasure
eradicating the anguish of such wait.
And came and went again.
And the last time it came, it went out the door.
My radio-heart was tired.
Of tuning in to an irresponsive air,
which would not blow its way.
And so it honed in on another,
a different transmission this time,
it was content in its own way,
a different type of comfort,
a luxurious pleasure
eradicating the anguish of such wait.
My radio-heart at ease at last
as his frequency faded to the background
til it could not be heard again.
For some time it went on like this,
my new-found frequency, in beat with another,
was at full blast diffusing our melodies,
as one.
And at the height of our refrain,
one of which I was experiencing with another,
through our very special bond,
someone honed in on his frequency,
and they, too, became one.
My radio-heart was happy and was sad,
was worried and was tired.
At last its frequency broke free,
in the form of a little, microscopic strand,
and tuned in to the wave of
the one which it had departed,
at last.
It was curiosity, it was anxiety,
a whole lot of apprehension,
and concern, and discomfort.
My little, microscopic strand,
fidgety in its unease,
did what little fidgety things do,
and turned care into fret,
and sympathy to exasperation.
And in its aggravation,
my little, microscopic strand
caused interference on their transmission
and I was shut off.
Our programs went on.
My radio-heart is still
with the half that makes me whole,
broadcasting our melodies,
in a singular wave that was ours,
fused, cohesive, united.
One frequency.
A unification, an integration,
an incorporation of all things odd and contradictory,
that was nevertheless ours.
We had never broadcasted in the same zone,
in a likewise wave,
yet we stayed true to each other.
As one.
Time passed.
Lately I've been honing in on his signal,
the one whose signal mimics mine,
but was a thousand wave-leagues away
on the air.
Our frequencies passed and our radio-hearts smiled.
Hello, we both said.
A new beginning.
But this time,
even when they passed,
even when they entertwined,
our frequencies would not get entangled,
nor entwined.
We knew better than that.
I'm still broadcasting in unison with my half.
And maybe he with his.
We're released in an unbound wave
of broadcasts and signals
and programs and songs.
The air is limitless.
And so am I.
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