ON RENOUNCING

Learning how to lose
should teach you
nothing ever should only have gained
import to the extent
it could have gone missing in the first place,
and all the worse
for what it really might be worth.

Well, that is old-school conformity:
renouncement endows you with the excuse
not to want anything whose want
could knock a whole throughout you.
But the fragility of the object of my will
just adds to its, say, marginal desirability,
regardless any such self-preserving skill.

Reconsidered,
learning to lose could in the least
allow us to retrieve
the smiling or the grieving
of a day we did live or made-believe,
before oblivion wipes away
our tears as rain.

Or else, renouncing could earn us in the end
the very freedom from a memory
whose sudden vexing
fading absence
I honestly don’t want to
summon on
any longer.

Then again, who knows how soon,
it could make us become deserving
of frail fresh yearning, turning
eyes ears arms wide and ripe and ajar
to receive from future its dearest and most elusive boon:
the glow of a tomorrow that resists our resisting
from being so far drifted.

I am not definitely the guy
who can so easily put up with resigning.
I cannot avoid the thought that life
is made up of single moments
and no repeat mode.
In that I insist fully at a distance
from any sect of fanaticism or self-deception.

And thus, I can only cope with defeat
by means of a hope, which lectures me
that by letting go, I do recede,
but only to move on and feed
all of my needs
on the uncertain seeds
of a new inception.