Sitting without feeling
it feels good to think
that people, in the name of love,
chant hymns round the clock.
From all that chanting my ringing ears
grow a little alert,
my heart grows a little greedy
for love.
A little of romance, a little of lust.
The dead feelings dream of rebirth,
glance sideways from the cremation pyre,
wondering if, once more, from the graveyard
they might stand up like a ghost!
If, once more, love might be found!
If, once more, one might become a lover!
Like a ghost’s unsatisfied soul
the feelings rise again,
roam again through the earthly neighbourhoods.
They come knocking in hope of love,
press their ear to door after door.
The unsatisfied souls of feeling
hear the whispers within.
Hear that people
commit grand hypocrisy in love’s name,
deceive in the name of romance.
The feelings go back again,
quietly.
To the cremation ground, to the pyre.
Take their grave, in a self-dug cave.
I have no feeling,
no love, no romance.
No pain of love,
no burden of burning in passion’s fire.
– 22/12/2020
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