We do have a sense of harmony between us.
So no one seems to be saddened
about the dissonance buffeting the distance.
A day here which I call my day
And a day there which I call her day
look like mirror images of each other,
with laws of refraction and reflection playing spoilsport
and laws of attraction groping for the subjects.
The voices, the sounds, the sighs, the yawns, the laughter,
when meet with indifference of earlobes,
make the eyes, a fodder for a sensitive artist.
The power of distance
playing second fiddle to power of path
waits for consecration of those sights
which are yet to be stripped of rainless clouds.
I wish this wait lasts for good.