familiar with all weather
broken rims of existence
soliloquies of despair
rainfall in silence

ripples of loud mirth
echoes of joyous feet
stillness of nightly earth
tunes of bitter sweet

romance of blind hearts
oaths of porcelain
stains of leftovers
fragments of bruised skin

lying in broken stones
living on river's face
nothing the ghat owns
but its loneliness.

The grim reaper
Is most likely
An accountant
Glasses and
Business wear
it shuffles us away
Like numbers
Erased from a page
All so professional
No need for haunting
No time for reminiscing
You were here
Now you are not
So away with you.

Each curl of conversation
stills my tongue, half-sentences
stranded in the mire
of biting reason

words silently form
protests, defenses
reasons and intentions

worthless to ears already fed
with the insistent conundrum
accompanying every attempt
at reconciliation.