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?