Thursday, 2 March 2017


She sounded cold; detached and distant
Between odd stars and light transfixed
Ponders I, with a tinge of care and regret
For in today’s world heroes are few
And I am many

She sounded cold and aloof, unemotional
Like someone was prodding her breasts
Her mind unwilling, her body yielding
And she struggles to balance the battles
Without betraying the background in her voice

I fumbled for words through the call
Unsure what to say to her troubled brittle soul
Seemingly beckoning sympathy
I struggled but my coldness wouldn’t allow me
I accepted long ago, I am no hero

She hangs up almost too quickly without byes
Just the way I wanted it, the way I always loved
It fills the space and time between us
I am accorded precious time to indulged in vanities

And write letters to ghosts that have stopped visiting 

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