Wednesday, August 18, 2010


He outstretched his arms and told me,

" I know her.This is the creation of your imagination. But where's the other one?"

Sadness, spreadeagled like a wall between our gardens.

My sheep are not back from the green pastures.

Child is still asleep.

I'm on the last line of my poem, short of a word.

She stood behind me, veiling her face with a smile,

Being my root, like a flower opted to be disdained.

"Give me an ear, I shall give you a word."

And I replied, "She's infallible and not visible!"