Today the Sun is dim and so also my pupils
and I'm threatened in my despair; it swears to stay with
unlike before. Henceforth, I will succumb to
and shrink to shell; stopped boarding running town bus
and got late to office hours.

All the days being washed brought-in dark clouds to my afternoon sky
and I sat down to polish my brash near rear door under water tap to lit-up
and watch to self, wishing a fresh shower for worn out summer day.
But nothing that sort happened; and the cuckoo never returned.

'Will call on your cell later you dear
And you call whenever you feel boiling with reminiscences.'
But seldom it happens and so empty the benches
the balcony, the garden, the kitchen - not needed
but my legs got tied with the strings I spawn
for they are grown to be away of my hands, stretch of my eyes.

Where is garden when the fence has eaten it away
and the roses denied blooming anymore?
Then why do I need rose now
when victorious or defeated -I don't know.
Were all these myths
and so also my walks on razor blades?

Who knocks at my door now -
to sell me in fillers?
Some unknown may become too kind to sigh
and some known may dropp in with replicas.
But will that return me back?