There are days when the darkness
of a thousand nights closes in on me,
weeks when the loneliness
of a hundred ages haunts my essence,
sweeping away my unfettered existence;
I gaze away plainly at the dark day,
illuminating with rays
yet blessing me with not a fraction of its light;
Saddened, I reach for hands knowing they can’t be held,
my eyes reveal bits of my fading soul,
yet my voice betrays me with the urge to appear strong,
so the opportunists don’t come in packs seeking my flesh;
my cheeks bath under streams of tears,
pure, unbridled flowing like the monsoon rain
these lips hide my longing, sewn together,
dry as a battle scarred house ever can be;
speak out
cry clingingly
perhaps,
plant a kiss on her forehead
does any of it yield oranges
the more encompassing fruit?
for winters ago, my heart spelt out for closure
pierced and suffocating, it unbosomed in letters
yet she gifted the best of mockery
wrapped in silk adorned with black roses
like a circus fulfilling the desires of its inhabitants;
centuries later – for my heart perceives time as such,
cries my companion of the separation the beloved brings
my heart grieves for her pain
rest assured my fondness for gifts hasn’t begun
yet nor does my unimportant existence
lend any relief
of what use is such a friend o heedless?
take your bag elsewhere for this caravan is not yours
here’s no space for the unworthy confidante;`
