I am lonely,
I switch on the T.V.,
Radio,
Or open a book to read.
6/6/2024

Under the mango tree where the shade is dark and deep
she waits with years on her skin.

The face though weary with the burden of time
has not yielded to the fate
of having once loved and lost.

She believes the winds from the barren field
will one day carry the rustle of footsteps
raising a song from within earth
that the moment is arrived
for the dead river to rise in tides
and flood her cheeks with the sapplings of
all the unplanted kisses.

When the nights come
the fireflies would sing
love is such a beautiful thing
basking in the glow of her heart.

Can you tell me, where
the tunnel ends. The curve has
flattened. There was no light.

In pillars of wasteland,
why did we reach there?
Death-kissing starts now.

The power of questions
will not mitigate your arrival.
Where will we drown?

My roots are shallow, not so deep
I do not sow, nor do I reap
I'm skin and bone, not earth and stone
I do not own the world alone
There is some insecurity in me
I am free but to a degree
Waiting for the next panic to arrive
for flexing manic men to rise
to drag us to another place
where they will tag the human race
on the forehead, on the hand
or you can't buy bread, understand?

Some people can wait
     Before they die;
Hold on for a loved one
     To say Good-bye.
To have one more Spring,
     Or any Season,
For Love or Closure,
     This we reason.
Now many can leave
     This coil of doubt,
Guilty they heard,
     On all thrity-four counts.