At the busiest hour/ when rings the bell
An abhorred guest/ peeps through the grill
I mutter go sell/ your wares at the hell
I want/  none of your deals.

Wish I could/ really be that harsh
Give him my piece/ of bitter mouth
Vent on him/ the choicest curse
Impale him with/ outta here shout.

The minute hurries/ but can’t disguise
His despair's plead/ broken eyes
Just a minute sir/ I won't take more
But on my face/ don't close the door.

Have got no time/ for the seller's trap
Not wanna buy/ all those cheap crap
No tears would swell/ no pin-pricked heart
Would love to see him/ quickly depart.

Too soon he knows/ here is no gain
Hopes would lie minced/ brutally slain
Stoops his head low/ bows out in grace
Must find himself/ another address.

When I die
Do I find
All  my lost things?

Is his work sweet or bitter
Door to door goes meter reader
Is he dull or clever witty
The measurer of used electricity.

With a torch and thick bound book
Below staircase down dark nook
Scans through the dust on mesh
With a face that’s expressionless.

Speaks so little somber face
Smiles no little courtesy’s grace
Notes down with just one look
Prosaic digits on notebook.

Is he a man with a home family
Or a mad measurer lone carefree
A wild pursuer of endless digit
Never known love never had it.

Still he has to knock many door
Stay a minute not anymore
Time is his arch enemy
Till comes night sleep’s lullaby.

Your self taught wave appears,
tripping on sand, it clears
away your footprints,
leaving me to stand alone on
a rocky shore, once more.

The seaweed drags her down,
a dreary green draped crown,
shines about her hair,
drift away without
a care.

You're alone.

Why not?

Rot, rot, rot away.
Sway with the wind,
wait and wait
and wait,
someday it will rescind.