Drawn Poem by Kiranjit Singh Bajaj

At a tryst with the day,
Not knowing whether I consume it,
Or the day consumes me,
For with the passage of time,
The wick is but getting shorter,
And the precious air, thinner.

Living life on the draw of memories,
From a reservoir you've filled,
And potentially laden with each draw comes,
A fillip to consume another day,
Knowing you're there to replenish the stock,
When you will me with your presence.

Alas! What would I do ever?
If the well dries as you recede,
For none can ever take your place,
And rather than be consumed by time,
I shall renounce it,
For the emptiness holds no draw.