We used to talk, but all I got were crickets
Crazy are the conversations that never were
I would whisper two secrets and a lie,
And he would despicably chuckle,
A few confessions would put on a wry smile in his face
He didn't talk, he would act, Charlie Chaplin
Although grave silent, he cared to spare an ear
talking to him was magic -- although he never was,
He was imaginary.

On a day like this; difficult to forget.
My thoughts; bored, intertwined, and confused.
My eyes; illusioned.
Displaying a fictitious film.

Strange!
My ears enjoy; my heart races.
A blurring siren; adrenaline music.
I'm afraid; my thoughts look calm.

Strange; my eyes watch and watch repeatedly.
My fingers, slender, slither on the cold bars.
The show, sad; my eye tears
yet the other, remains strong; refuses to sympathise

Strange; my neighbour was anonymous.
Our freedom; stolen by COVID,
Lockdowns isolated us; bored and hopeful.
Watching sky-high demarcations
Steal our hope.