Nothing but fragments
A picture frame with no picture
I can't see you, yet you remain
In the back of my mind
You remain
These thoughts don't connect
Don't flow
I can't seem to make sense of anything
Anything but
*You

She is a character perfect
for my work of science fiction,
chosen after much research
on unreliability of reality
as one knows does exist,
it's even more true of her.
In a hurry I concluded,
"What a  luck, I chose to write her
as the character of possibility!
                              then, how quickly
                              the class I expected of her
                              went totally to seed.
                              are we opposites?
Or, is this reality not shared by both of us?
what can one say about a situation when,
my own creation fights against my writ,
No, I am not in the same league as Luigi Pirandello
this is the result when commonsense is delineated
by a hallucinating mind, caught in love net.Zilch.

A gulf of emotions lies deep
between him and her right now,
she stands unmoved for long
on her island of grief.

He stands on the firm land
just an earshot away
waving  frantically at her,
as if everything is alright.
She just struts towards him
a bit, her face still inscrutable,
as if she has completely forgotten
her role on the play she is in.

Now, in a boat he goes around the island
and urge her to take a plunge;
is she afraid to jump and swim in the cold water
or she likes it there alone,
though cut off, from mainland,
comfortable in that island?

The jazz band playing in the background
sensed the change , stunned, has fallen mute.

A spittoon!
onlookers
look confused;
it speaks
a dead language.

Mackerel, they want to  be
both unanimously agreed;
but why is she stuck still
under the hide of a whale?