I didn’t answer when you called: A poem 

These hundred pages I’ve written without your name 

These mellifluous words, all seem so lost and tame 

It feels like a headwind on a slow-moving aeroplane 

The rowboat has strong oars, but no robust coxswain 

I feel like a face in a multitude with a proclivity to debase 

I can indulge in pure leisure, but no treasure is my gaze 

I have flowers in my vase, with the knowledge time will erase 

But there’s jazz in my head that sets my soul ablaze 

And the gold on my window is futilely sold to the cold 

The street outside is a desert I don’t want to behold 

I lay my head on my pillow with my secrets untold 

There’s suffering for sure, when sense of duty is bold 

I tug, push and shove all this like luggage to be hauled 

It started with a pebble, and see how its snowballed! 

I gracefully did without the things that destiny stonewalled 

But I waited for you for millennia, yet didn’t answer when you called