In the end,
what matters only is-
how well you look
into the eyes of
your child,

being brave to stand
as a hero or
ashamed as a villain.

1st rule was broken,
Two were kept.
3rd one was you-
My last, forever, late.

The love
you've kept so long
in the wait
for someone unknown,

Does it still
keep burning
every night
When you leave
the bed awhile &
stare at
the lone vacant sky?

He expects her everyday
longer than hope.
Sitting on benches,
leaving coffee cold.

When you're done with chores,
Taking the dishes to the sink,
gently rubbing each until one's
left that you mindlessly rub-
Is it true that I'm gone?

Albums of long lost memories
kept aside your closet beneath
neatly folded clothes- when touched,
you avoid them intentionally-
Is it true that I'm gone?

When pages of book flap in wind-
passing by you beside window,
your vacant gaze upon a line-
that stirred thoughts behind time,
Is it true that I'm gone?

Why is it that your coffee
left on table often gets cold?
Distracted- you sense an hour
passes by like your secret brief sigh.
Is it true that I'm gone?

Late at night, when lights go off-
birds go numb, in screaming silence,
is it that you still make a wish
for me in your dreams?
Is it true that I'm gone?

Some bitter tastes don't remind
Us of sweet, rather make us remember
The people whom we shared the taste with.
In this familiar way, some scattered voices whisper

“Sometimes it's good to feel that you belong.
Sorrows never really made us sad.
Not being able to share them did.”

We walk along
the edge of a street
In clumsy toes
and warm likely feet.

Thus in apart, you hold,
stand where you are
turn back and see,
to look, to find,
and catch my chin
in your soft palms
in this empty street
and place a gentle kiss.

Then we smile.
And you walk along
the edge of the street.

While asleep, I sense you hand
on my forehead.
As a drop of your tears
fall on my cheek,

upon seeing the way I'm sick all day,
this love is worth of
not being well for a thousand years.