Evening glow of gold splurges the backyard,
Tree-tops seem to be happy touching the sky,
I sit alone on the deck,
Unmoved by the grandeur of the scene.
Days come and end,
Nights melt seamlessly into mornings,
But my chase of her doesn’t leave me.
I have tried to reason with myself a million times
That my love for her is my need –
Not her priority,
That I must suffer for my own inadequacy,
That sorrow of unrequited love
Is better than emptiness.
I must be grateful to her
For her gracefulness in letting me
Express my love to her.
Cruel she is not,
But she has her own dreams beckoning her.
How much I miss her?
I can’t measure it, I can’t think it,
I can only feel it.
I would like to search for her
In the forgotten alleys of this world,
Through its frizzled collective memory.
I would like to drink long through her eyes,
But would she let me touch her hand?
Suffern, New York, March 24, 2012