Friend

We meet for tea
in pretty porcelain cups
and delicate sandwiches
in fragile flowery plates
I'm in my designer dress
carrying my branded bag
You wear your heart
on your threadbare sleeve
The shadows on your face
hide the sparkle
I knew so well
The pain dulls your eyes,
a knife without its edge
The veneer of calm
masks the torment
within you
Unsaid anguish
in your words
Hands reaching
across the table
seeking comfort
in a warm grip
But I sit back
and talk of the weather
how good life is
my plans to holiday in Europe
I turn away from your need
I ignore the cry of help
you never utter
Your crushed hopes shred
into crumbs on the plate
Your shoulders droop
your spirit falters
You walk away, your
steps weighed down
by defeat
You called me friend
yet I let you down
Regret courses
through my veins
blood curdled
by cowardice
Blush of shame
flames red on my cheek
Is there still time for me
to help
or am I too late
Forgive me, my friend
if you still call me one


© 2013 Uma Venkatraman ~ All Rights Reserved