The threesome ‘ve become twosome,
I know not when or by whom;
The doors through which winds of love ‘d come
Have been long closed as if swept by a broom.
As the evenings descend, slowly, ever so slowly,
As loneliness creeps in, much like a cat, as stealthily,
I feel myself digressing into the world of the void –
I fathom my senses, slowly numbing as tho‘ by sins soiled,
If to remember and recollect are sins, then I’m guilty
Of making vain attempts along lines long since faulty.

If reading is oblivion from the present and the past,
I am guilty of being oblivious about things in molten cast.
All things natural appeal to me, as I look in awe –
The green leaves, shining in the sunlight, resemble eyes in the shape of doe.
As I open my windows wide, I see the flapping of wings
Birds perch themselves on the sills, as though they‘re kings.

Earldoms that span as wide as the eyes travel,
They ‘re the souls we look up to, eulogize and marvel.
White is the color of virginity and that of clouds
Black is the color of overcast sky that retain us indoors with colds,
Had there been a measure to gauge the soul’s depth
Surely we’d have proven pure and closeted in kegs.
As I write these lines in an attempt to rhyme in couplets
I feel the rains meandering down the skies, in droplets.
If I’d paint, I’d have captured the color of the skies
Sometimes clear, at other times dark, amid the shrill of birds’ cries.
But the pen and paper have always been my paramour
Therein I catch the heartbeat of people of my land, mon amour.

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