It’s time for agitation against the dark,
for poetry to watch and adore silence―
now it’s no time for hug, kiss, or love.
Last summer when we were far away
I planned a rendezvous by a riverbank―
the warm river having a quiet stream
stirring souls―and to bathe together.
One year already passed, but my plan
hasn’t seen the light, because nature
had probably hatched its secret plan
before we dreamt to be a twosome.
I also planted a seed of a shady tree
that grows fragrant flowers and fruits,
but the seed has stopped sprouting up.
Miasmic flowers hit our nostrils hard
damaging smell sense, diffusing odor
Everything seems to collapse forever,
the sky betraying with dark stars too.
We live our life—maybe no one does—
turning anaemic, counting days silently.
—April 3, 2020