This year is like
blundering somewhere else
this year happens to be meeting
people people people
who kill me each moment
of our lovemaking

you do not step out
leaving our desolation behind
to stroke my nothingness
even once, reaching out
to our memories that are like us

hanging ever so loose and forlorn
like all those broken tiles
that line the inglenooks
of our sorrows

killing me each moment this year

© 2003 Prasenjit Maiti

THIS YEAR IS LIKE...
prasenjit maiti
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