A message in the wee hours,
woke me up from the covers,
the news was disengaging.
The slumber leaves me abrupt
my mind is disrupt
I rush down the steps.
I stand in the verandah
see the pale pink Mozanda
unfurling in the dawn.
The leaves are slender
striped.They render
an image of a flower.
I sit on the steps alone
almost in a forlorn
I weep.
What am I up to? I wonder.
My hands tremble. A subdued whimper
chokes me.
I wipe my eyes in a hurry
straighten from my reverie
I walk into the house.
Back to the message, I go.
Reading in a voice low
I interpret many an inference.
The rightful I thought
for which I fought
seems to be elusive.
Why is it I all the time?
I deliberate. The clock chimes
demanding a resume.
This is how I go about?
a schedule without a doubt
confining me to a circumvention.
As usual, I am lost.
