Alone

A hopeful afternoon of Tuesday

Turns slithery ;

Waiting and working of the day

Brings misery.

Living the passing Caesalpinia,

Through the windows of love,

Crossing the bridge of mauve,

There are dusts of raws.

Where rhythm dwindles

I know; still pure! still true are lives!

Not their misbehaviour, neither their attitudes,

Should I grant as my virtues.

I can be lonely like the fleeting clouds,

I can be alone like the impervious roads,

Having an unexpected wanderlust on the sultry lanes,

I alone can manage my within and outside storms.

I can shelter myself alone.