“Always read between the lines”

That’s what I was taught,

By those who are now confined

To live out the essence of full sentences.

They were my friends,

And it seems like just yesterday–

We were all on the same page

But I guess the tensions and raptures of today 

Made us into subtleties of dynamic factors

Existing only beyond the margins

Of systematically distinct chapters.

I can still remember the beginnings

Of that not so happily ever after

During that elusive genesis,

I witnessed the premise of my installed curiosity

Become but a timeless captive

Within the underlined context–

Of every introduction.

To summarize, the highlights of elementary

Remained sedentary within my mind

And so, I guess that’s why–

The rudiments of their style

Failed to dissuade me

From the hinted potential

Of what I hoped they could be.

Back then, I could make no commentary

And still, why would I?

I refrain from the need to criticize

The multiplicity of my main characters,

Because I too have always been–

A part of that exclusive

Who was fortune enough to live–

Among the language

Which others lacked to effectively translate

Concerning the modernity–

Of our concrete experience.

Yet sometimes, I staggered,

Thinking that the heart of this realism

Would somehow carry distortions,

Based on the foolish ambiguity

Of my own sympathetic insight.

In a relative sense,

I can’t deny that they pushed the tale forward,

Because the thrilled enterprise–

Of our adventures

Developed and became active

In the middle of our substantive narrative.

In a way, you could say–

That they didn’t truly understand

The tradition which they chose to inherit,

For the reflection of our setting–

Mirrored a far contrast

From the vivid comparisons–

To that of Middlemarch,

But we constantly remarked–

On the expressive scene

With a sort of fellowship,

Designed simply to accompany the wonders–

Of such smooth and benevolent imagination,

In conjunction with affairs

Which were easily birthed, and carried out–

In a world which we referenced to be

Synonymously seen

As our own Middle Earth.

We had all participated in the poetic motions 

Creating classical moments as lyrical authors

At the urban stage which fortified our epic plays

And now,

It’s the remnant of those affirmative days

Which offered impactful testimony–

Concerning our coming of age

That won’t ever allow me to crudely negate

The sharing of our pain.

I have intrinsically skimmed

And found no harbored regressions

Because I could never dismiss the previous signs

Which granted me the continuity–

To veraciously resonate

With those practical motives

And analytical traits, becoming cascades

Which led to resolutions–

Of many unspoken fates.

It’s all a matter of perspective

Or subjective taste,

For time was not fictitious

It showed us what was real;

Claiming that to survive around our way

Meant taking up notions, by initiating–

Levels of fixations, conjured when reviewing

The animated state–

Of uncanny gaits

And gradually did we go on to advance,

By studying the uncommon stance of others.

It was simple, you abided by the outline–

Of certain principles

Or got addressed, in an effort to help you subvert

From critical engagements,

Like asking too many questions–

Which could get you hurt

And sadly, we knew all too well

The footnotes–

Concerning those who disappeared in spurts.

They were not misconstrued,

But were avid scholars 

When it came to interpreting a rising plot

Which was written clearly within the eyes

Of another point of view.

Because truthfully, in those streets,

You could not sleep

Unless you wished to become a typical hardcover

Which was forever shelved,

Deep beneath our feet.

Everyday, I observed and took notes

Trying to find a way–

To gain some sort of inspiration 

I tried to explore, to gracefully search

And discover, in order to help guide us all away

From the repetition of daily tragedies;

Hoping to resourcefully pave a lane

Into the possibility of a new genre.

But, nothing ever changed,

They all remained 

The displaced products of our social frame.

They went on to become headlines,

Because they were smart, but not wise

However, we have to suspend judgements

When dealing with the realities of life.

We are all defined–

By the scheme and fashioning of our blueprint

There are no heroes or villains,

Because every antagonist 

Sees themselves as the protagonist 

Within their own story.

And, for me, there is no glory

Only melancholy

Connected to this eventful,

But fragmented retrospect,

Where I have no choice but to sift–

Through the accounts of ourselves,

Which others are bound to one day tell.

Now, every time I think of those guys

I can hear their voices saying,

“Let nothing pass you by.

Keep it going. Be thorough, and …

Always read between the lines. “