I am standing like a sycamore at your door
Like a Nataraja-dervish asking time its score
These numerous arms flaying in the Universal roar
And all this rhythm and blues is all way before
the birds come out of their nests at sunrise
I am listening to a heartbeat amid a trillion cries
Even as the moon paints its cream on the skies
Are we sleepy for love or are we way above?
Love’s umbrage in a penumbra when it comes to push and shove?!
You know, I let you live your life as I was rife
with the patience and restraint, and how did I sacrifice or strive?
You must know that I am also waiting for justice to arrive!
Must I keep waiting till I am past sixty-five?
These blues carry me forward; I’m sixty-two on September the eight!
Is there more to seek when I’m perpetually waiting at the gate?
I must state that it is getting too late!
There is a lineage to resurrect; and how much can I wait?!
Time and life, we all know, don’t abate,
Am I a victim of my own patience, am I being belied at any rate?
What is it I beget? What is my fate?
Is the tryst with destiny not forthcoming at any date?
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