Since you went away, I’m seeing less and less. Each day looks more mundane than the previous one and the nights are dull too. The wind, sunsets and rains have lost their charm. I’m chasing less and less rainbows.
Oh! here I go again, making another compromise–yeah I can do without poetry, no one seems to like it anyways except myself and after all, poetry starts with seeing and I’m slowly getting blind. Deaf too, I can’t hear what this silver singing river has to say or what my own pounding heart has to say.
All things are fading or is it me who’s fainting? Senses getting numb, going back, back into your arms, back to trying making some sense of it all–waiting for the inspiration to strike, for a rainbow to form in the sky so that I can chase it. You call me pathetic for waiting, for choosing to be sensitive instead of strong. But I don’t mind, ‘cuz you are the only one I can cry to, you are my sunshine–the meaning and substance of all my poems.