I see no use in this beautiful day.
No warmth in its counterfeit glimmer of comfort.
On the tree, two birds cavort like they know each other.
I, on the other hand, find no rhythm in strangers.
I see no point in these lofty grains of hope
when breathing is thick with stunted life.
Beyond vanished horizons of a lost beloved,
my hair has greyed out its patience
I want no part in a promised future.
I have no role to play with new birds.
Tomorrow will have been rinsed of all colour,
if you will not be there.
NOORMOHAMED 