Next to a window with

Slotted blinds

Close to a yard with split for

A surface

Plantain growth for a shrub

During summer not a soul

Will be around.

The artist remembers his

Muse who steered his mind

For poetry

Born from rich Greek tradition.

Sunrays boil his body to


But since days on end even

Daily morning’s stirrings

Fade out on his sensations

Just like his life

Has slowed down a lot

The sand of time he held onto

Fast and furiously

Has run in continuity thru’ his

Tightly clenched fist.

‘I guess it’s time’ she talks to him

‘See that you’ll finish what you’ve

Started and get it past the

Finishing line!’

“Indeed sweet A

Poetess of your own right

I will try my best.

I miss your triad love

Your compassionate physical

Warmth. Indeed!”

Love will never die.




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