Stepping into a new 365, blowing out candles
He gave of jubilation this breeze
A new day, a step closer to the bed
This chair by the corner, empty and cold
I cannot find the owner, the warmer
Age has returned burrowed oxygen
The air was cold and piercing
Ventilation ceased, new air was locked out
Pictures on the wall lie about the moment
Clothes too idle, caressing the wardrobe
Mouths were shut, words hid themselves
Rhythm of wailing played by lips
Defeated the radio’s pleasure
The deep bed has snatched again
Space too vast and heavy in emptiness
Too obvious minds could not ignore
His feet alas has found its bucket
Age did not fail in its predictions
Mortality once more given to slumber
Different feet multiply tears
As he is accorded full weeping ovation
Among mourners pouring their dam
This absence shocks the stick and bottle
Their companion is gone, now its loneliness
He is the twin of that fig tree
Truly green and of many leaves but his only sin is lacking a fruit
His diary is of blank pages
About him history has nothing to say
Oh! This chair would miss its owner
The stick and the bottle their dear pal
Cool thyself with this tears offering
In the down impossible of moist
Once upon a time…
His shadow escorted many
6 billion all around me
How can I remember that face?
Without the aid of a picture
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