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Lovers in Limbo

My love is all reserved for you, but in that reservation
is included such a lot of others,
like as if my love of you was something of the very motor
that made possible my love for all that lot of others,
friends, acquaintances, the family and relatives
and even strangers on my journeys.
Such, in fact, have more often than not become my truest friends,
nomadic wanderers, adventurers and exiles,
like so many fugitive Tibetans here in India
and escaped unsocial refugees from gross injustices
in Europe and the western world, from communism,
from Thatcherism, from brutal Bushism and capitalism
and from themselves, the vainest and most desperate escape of all.
But they have all somewhere some love
that constantly keeps waiting for them;
no matter how exiled they are, they always have a home at heart
to some day hopefully return to;
but the truer and profounder their love is, the more it hurts,
and the more painful is the enterprise to take it up again.
There are so many lovers suffering in Limbo,
and at present we are two among them.

Poetry by Christian Lanciai