The day passes, like one and two and three
and thus each moment leaves
with no theme. The romance dies and
the smell fades away.
What am I looking for?
What? What? What?
The horizon and the vista of the desert
hurts me for I cannot arrest their reach,
and I cannot forgive my sullen.
This clock is a pale face staring at me,
I don’t know since when and the penetrating
eyes enquire of something I can’t even read.
As it ticks, I shed one of my parts - a cell or a little
blood and now I am finding it hard to hang on.
What do I need to look for?
This is the question and thus wishing of my days away.