On this chilly café
    independently, I sat.
To this Toffee Nut
    Frappuccino, I sipped.
With my never ending reverie
    called “self-pity”,
I am consumed.

Paved way for this
    sudden urge to get
    my purple-inked pen, and
    my nasty leather brown notebook,
    from my old blue sling bag.

What to write?
Believe me, I have no idea.
I just feel like to scribble
    this nonsense out from
    my littered thoughts, and
    disarrayed emotions of this
    solitary state called “singlehood”.

For where are those shoulders
     to lean on?
Where are those hands to hold?
Where are those sparkling eyes
    that stares back?
Where are those?
Where are those?

When can I ever
    have someone to share
    this table with?
When can I ever
    hear another heartbeat
    next to mine?
When can I ever read my poetry
    to this “special one”?
When can I?
When can I?

So now, five minutes left
    is all I have.
I’ll be packing my things now,
    stop this senseless scribbling,
    head to the office,
    with coffee on my hand.

This reverie, I must halt.
To rather remind myself:
   “Hey, today’s a brand new day.
     and who knows?
     *Who Knows?”