Bleating Soul

The heart stops beating
As each day passes without
Hearing your voice.

From far corner of a room
The slight to and fro movement of
The chair is heard no more. Even
The stick and your chimneypot hat
Hangs by the side of the door!

Where have you gone?
Your pen lies still at the
Desk by the side of the old
Lamp – this never burns any further.

That was the day when
You wrote the last lines
Of your obituary and still
Wept silent tears, while
You avoided my looks!

Ah! And you rose from that chair
As if you had suddenly got the
Strength to rule the world – seemed
You had finally achieved your goal?

I watched you and felt you were crazy;
Did you want to taste the red old wine?
Or wear the old, brown gifted coat of
Your marriage; your weak wrinkled hands
Made some signals, I couldn’t catch…!

Alas! If I could catch the time too.
Hold it back and roll the course – the
Time rolled faster and your pen slipped as
You sat back to write something new.
Wish you could’ve done it
Over a bottle of red old wine….!