A kiss, which
came from the firefly,
when I was in pitch-dark.

Floundering about― in
search of you, to move
away from wars, noises and explosions.

There was no love
lost, when you wanted to
come to misty gorge, to slide down
the steep silvery falls.

Not being open to talk to
sleeping eyes of sun, to read
the book of pain in bright light.

Outlasting all the miseries
of losing sovereignty
of tearless solitudes.

You have to prod
at me to bring out the
infinity of the frills.