She flew, unattended, innuendo, left through an unopened door.
Loneliness strikes
When you're lost in people's eyes
When you're astrayed from people's companies
When your existence is left unattended
Loneliness strikes
When people's six senses betrayed you
They didn't appreciate your effort
They didn't admire your work
And so you lost your self-esteem
And so you lost your confidence
And so you're exhausted
Loneliness strikes
When you lost your interest to the surroundings
You're too self-centered that
Too high is your ambition
Too high is your expectation
Too high are your dreams
While
No man is perfect
The old man
Slow and tumbling
Always grumbling for nothing
Has an insanitary habit of finger-licking
Always enjoys digging mucus in the nose
Saliva always being used to flip a page
Always bites to open a knot
Water tap always being left turning on
Always a careless choking on food or water
Resembling a big baby on care
But always being left alone and unattended
Because he always causes trouble
And he has long been used to making troubles
And living with troubles
And so now he's left alone with his troubles
Alone with his mind-set troubles
The troubles caused by old age and its innocence
With the new era of computers, handphones
And ipads
Books left gathering dust
If you were too busy
Books left unattended to
If you were too forgetful
Books left fading colours
If you were too lazy
Books left displaying and waiting
If there was no one interested
In finding out more about
Knowledge and life after all
Unattended Anger
Anger is like
An egg
In boiling water
Left unattended
It explodes
Leaving
A mass
And smell
©Eve Roper 7/13/2015
A garden unattended
is a woman abandoned
Grass growing unruly
her hair untidy
Petals dried out
manicure urgently needed
Dry stems and twigs
chapped lips and dry skin
Weeds vined and entwined around trees
ingrown toenails and coarse heels on feet
Evening wore a floral dress.
Blue birds announced their departure
opening red wings.
You know them, buffs
of night who would not wait for the moon
to rise and I had nothing to hide.
These tragic toes
black with gangrene
still want to mount on red clovers.
That anatomy of desire
will dance with snakes. Who knows
the beautiful anxiety of lying on hawthorns ?
Satish Verma
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