the buffer

Last night I set an alarm
I was buying time, again
stealing her from your sleep.

Mornings are always brighter
but not when you are departing slowly
and I am waking to wake us up.

I spoke of your presence, earlier
I still feel so, even knowing
that you were by his side.

I may have traveled with you,
seen your tiny cottage in the mountains
where you said you’ll find peace

You’ll return, perhaps
We’ll go to movies, again
and you will keep looking at your watch

I don’t know who I’ve missed

the one who you have missed is an universe in itself
made of numerous other universes,
and our sense of space is an illusion,
so is our time.

your absence is your presence

Will love overcome love?
I keep asking
every morning, deciphering
the coincidences,
dismissing them as ghosts.
And then you pop up
suddenly from the cyber-haze.
“May be today”, I hope
You are oblivious, I had been warned
and yet you stir so much
“Perhaps she knows,” I say
I open my book of fallacies,
try seeking refuge in truth tables,
I deny metaphysicality,
I stay away from moral in this season of love
as if it’s a cadaver
Soon everything blurs,
A sickness takes over me
I talk to empty space
asserting, positing:
"Your absence is your presence".

The sky

This sky with her moon
may have clouds playing games
often hiding this luminous crescent
in a slow ballad of the night

But your presence?
I am addicted to it
Its slowly consuming me
Every moment
Like those nights
Devouring children of light

My only assurance
is that you are vast
and probably as infinite
As my love for lost maps