Three words came at me,
Banging my door like crazy.

I open, and see,
'Hey. You. Free?'
Standing in desperation,
Questioning my availability.
Smelling like they skinny dipped
In a pool of alcohol & jealousy.

the white knight did not make eye contact
when he left
simply, he picked up his sword
and walked out to a starless evening sky

he left the fireplace lit
clinging to the remnants of blackened, ashy fire wood
as his heavy metal boots clanged
every step of the way

i watched him climb atop his neighing stead
and heard the clip-clops of hooves fade in the night

i told him to stay
he didn't

soon after
he returned
but only what was left of him.

i pray that the melody of me
play along with the sonata of you and her.
i pray it echoes through your head
as you did to me
with the waltz of almosts and
the staccato of uncertainty.

After a long time
they decided to meet,
after the sunset
as usual.
No display of affection
but with gentle etiquette
as usual.

But today the sky had gathered grey clouds,
and was raining outside.

They waved hands to each other and
secured their places to sit.
Adjusted themselves to the depth of comfort.

The conversation began
with the warmth of desperation.
They talked,
some romance.
They talked,
some friends.
At that moment the ambiance around got as blurred as lost.
And the time was flying.

Between,
that in-depth conversation,
They noticed,
they didn't look into eyes,
although nobody was hiding anything.
But still why?

The redolence of coffee and tea
represents them quietly.
They are different but together.

It was raining when they met
and decided to leave when it stops.

"The rain is stopped, and it’s time to..." you said.

"But the wind is still strong," I interrupted.

Desperation within these darker places,
I have an ironed out yearning to bid farewell to those faces,
Who chase me down their corridors of boredom,
I'm towel dried by routine and so stripped of wisdom.

That slithering hand around that cold, lifeless face,
****** and clockwise at one insipid pace,
Tells me I'm late and I've just missed mirth's deadline,
So here I am, consigned to this, life's callous, common flatline.

But I will rage and I will curse at the dust and dawn,
I'll think tightly of a polished image and forget that despotic yawn,
I'll beg truth to show me beauty, ardor and distress,
And I will open my enervated eyes to this old miraculous mess.

I’m struggling to stay afloat here
Lost in this sea of you and your emotions
The salt water spray stings my eyes
I need some fresh water before I die of thirst

There are times when you feel like
reaching out..............full length,
to grasp -
the ultimate;
something, which you will not like
to dispense away with
no matter who leaves or alights.

Somewhere, from where you will never waver
again -
an Equilibrium.

But most of the times, the best you can do
is to swish your hand and latch on to;
thin, slippery, lukewarm air, vanishing as a wraith
into a starless, roiled chasm......
and you are viciously abandoned
amidst the pungent whiffs
of the random metropolis.

Every night I lean against the rusted gate
of this modest rented apartment
and give a fish eye to the stillborn night.

I see a lean column of smoke from a smokeshaft
...obscure...far off;
reaching out......for the stars
cruelly dispersed by grimy draft.

I see the flickering, pale beam;
the solitary, asocial gleam
of the municipal  lamp;
reaching out meekly....towards me,
getting devoured in a frenzy
by the soft, persistent charge
of the relentless molecules of dark.

✽

And loneliness becomes admissible....
.....again

I find that we poets have
a quiet desperation to write
that keeps us hanging onto life.