Without You
The rose has blackened in my book,
and there is no wisp of you.
Your absence brings back that one brook
that once brimmed with love and hue.
The kitchen knife lies lifeless, lone;
I cut an apple for you and me,
your laughter rings in here, I groan
in agony of that memory.
Our garden has now become mine,
and now I know how silence screams.
This lily, this peony of thine
will too leave me like a dream.
Must I go back to a ‘house’?
It oozes with your happy thoughts.
I sit by the gate and drowse
while my heart homes distraught.
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