AUTHOR'S FOREWORD: This is a poem written from Ryoga's point of view, trying to get into Ryoga's mindset. The way he expresses himself may require some suspension of disbelief: let's just say he has been bitten by the poetry bug.
Comments are very welcome, of course. (Just keep in mind that the actual poet and the fictive poet may not hold the same opinions.)

DISCLAIMER: The following poem was inspired by characters created and owned by the formidable manga-ka Rumiko Takahashi. It was written without permission and for entertainment purposes only, and may not be used for profit in any way.

The Poetry Bug - Daydreams
By Elin B

I would bend myself against your little hand.
I would be the tender young sapling,
curving around you,
reaching up to your neck,
so close,
holding up fruits for your picking.
I would be near you, always.

O if you would only love me back.

That thought makes me shiver, in truth: two stars,
Two rivers that glitter with longing!
Could the earth bear that much? Not just one, but two?
Two paths that meet, and merge into one,
Learning to carry each other...

Would you then curl up against me? Seek shelter and warmth
from this frame?
Would you then, maybe, let me be the grown one, the strong oaken lover
with sheltering leaves,
Cradling you under the moonlight?
You, no longer the mother and mistress, but rather the fluttering dove,
The squirrel, in need of strength and warmth, - you would turn to me first.

Why can it not be thus?
Why can't I be
protector and protected,
cherisher and cherished,
holder and held one?
It should be so.

Yes, it should be so.
We could hold each other.
He can't understand her like I do.

But it doesn't turn out as in stories,
Or at least it doesn't for me.
Perhaps the stories don't like me.

I don't know if he thinks of her, when he wins.
I think of her, and I lose.

Perhaps I do not love her, then.
Perhaps my eyes are not eyes.
Perhaps the sun is not really the sun,
but only a pallid old lamp,
that shines up above.
Perhaps my legs are sticks that can't walk,
Not flesh and bone, only wood,
Perhaps my hands are unable to fight,
And perhaps I was never a fool.

Perhaps I haven't lived this past year
In a story, but somewhere else.
Somewhere where life is normal and neat,
Where one might linger in peace.
Go to school every day, study hard, then go home,
Growing up slowly, preparing for life,
Hurting no one,
No one reaching my heart.

Daydreaming at times of a different life.

I would not know the depths and the heights,
I'd have no idea how foolish I can be,
I'd trample along on the surface of things,
And find someone, maybe, with luck. And be content.

How can I tell the truth from the lies?
She's real in my heart. She's real in my eyes.

And I cannot say what might still hold as true,
If I did not ever love you.