The sky where kites do not flutter

the city of recluse whispers

women missing from the pavements

the picture of absence in presence 

Shortness of breath in my steps 

Wheezy exhaustion in my steps 

O the All-Abiding One, the rest are doomed to perish

Is there any gatherer of decayed lamentations? 

In the observation of analytical riddles 

Heartless like plucking the last rose from its bud 

Starry-eyed like sorrow hideless in tears

In an arena where giants wrestle 

Mine is the grief of windmills 

I wonder how many in the world have heard your name 

how many strangers coveted your chasteness? 

A festival of swings on a mobile gondola 

is the blue in children’s eyes 

the geography orphaned in its own atlas 

O the love of thousand miles stretching wide 

with the accented tongues of rare guests 

I sing the spring songs that no one will hear 

Just you carry on fearing…

But I am laughing deep blue in the dimples of blue gazes