you might not
have been my first love
but you were the one
who hurt the most.

The nature’s mistake is I was born.
My mistake is I am still living.

No matter what I do
The loneliness comes in
She peeks through the window
And lifts up my chin.

No matter what I do
The loneliness is there
She looks at me sadly
And doesn’t seem to care

No matter what I do
The loneliness gets more
She wraps her arms around me
While I lay motionless on the floor

A beautiful day in September,
The air is breathing yellow,
Painting the leaves golden
with each exhale.
Hues of autumn are unfolding
Warmth and tenderness intertwine,
With sunlight spreading on tree branches.
There's merry laughter in the hamlets,
Their laughter merges
with the sunlight laughing.
It is a reflection of
September's joy.
Somewhere the song of summer is ending,
But what a gift it is to be able to live
In September's warmth,
it protects me
From all sadness.

“Are you okay?”,
my wife asks
when I cough.

“No. I’m fine.
Yes. I’m not”,
I respond,

stumping her
in the poetic irony
of words that

encompass the
yes and no
and the in between.

She flips the finger
at me and I return
the bird to the nest.

We go back to our life
and our tablets,
the drip, drip of my chemo
and I wonder about okay.

“No.  You’re fine.
Yes. You’re not.”,
the bag stares in response.

Visitors give me pleasure,
When they depart.
5/9/2024

isolation has its familiarity,
as happiness is a drug
yet not as addicting as
misery.