You left before the winter ended
The pen hadn’t finished the last couplet
Now I move among the shadows
Jokers laugh at the pathos.
The four beige walls with ears
Celebrate the lipstick mark and tears
Your stories I cannot frame
We won the war and lost the game.
Half a bottle of golden Scotch
Those moments of loss that you dodge
The broken flute has a last tune
The city without sleep now has no moon.
From a faraway land monsoon brings a song
You slip away and my prayers tag along
The altar is empty, my God went home
I say the last Hello to nobody over the phone.
