At times it goes quiet,
Quieter than usual,
When you go away,
It feels as if
Someone turned off the light
While I was still reading.
I sit in the dark
For a while
To make out the edges
Of everything around,
Only to discern
How nothing is in
The shape of you,
This solitude
Is a poor child,
Bereft of his toys
And sent to bed,
When he did not feel like sleeping.
I lie on your bedsheet,
And seek your whiff
In the fancy of my head,
I feel the air quelling
Slowly to the tune of my breath,
And silence prevailing
Where there used to be
The cacophony of your voice.
Someone handed me sugar syrup,
Without the sugar,
And then drank it too,
Unplugged the power cord
Of my favorite show,
That had me dumbfounded.
It should be okay,
So you say,
For there is so much work to do,
But weren’t you the fuel
That had this engine chugging?
Now there is so much to work on,
But nothing left to do.