a tornado sitting at the end of the street
a spindle spinning off its axis
or a meteor shower
lost its sense of purpose

a sun that  forgot to rise in the east
stumbling around the cosmos
hurled into a split of where to set now~

a poem that has forgotten its language
misplaced it with the keys to the front door~

language hurling for words
words losing essential form
silence screaming back
the clock is not able enough
to tell how time has spent you
minutes and seconds
hours and days
penetrate deep into the being
lengthening their existence
you wait for the hour to end
the day to turn ~

it looks away from your glare
how you expend time ~

the hour spent
in your memory is but a moment in time
cyclic and ever present
how will i remember thee?
in haste?
hurriedly washing the whites separate to the colored
or languidly relishing
the pause between looking at you
being looked at by you
time is leaving us
in an arid vacuum of words
a patrichor of syllables
somewhere very far off
a koyel  says your name
and lovers touch each other
in an ode to our absence;
this void of distance 

…

Dee is from Lahore, Pakistan. Loves dark nights and old trees.