şiir
what remains
I ought to write letters -
letters not to be read
until the time comes when it's funny
and not a rotten bit of dread
and boredom, smeared in honey,
remains for me to entertain.
to be as is, sincere and plain,
to let my childishness remain
my quirk -
a funny trait,
maybe disturbing,
but yet incapable of burning
a timid finger upon touch.
yes, it's too much
to seek attention and regret
well-meaning interest that I get,
to be a bore of my own volition
and hide a grin that though I hate,
will twist my lips - its true estate -
and through my eyes dispense its poison
while I am cowering, afraid to look
and meet the gaze of who it took
to be its prey.
come what may -
to take one last look at the vista,
to close the book before it rains,
to face towards, and not away,
is what apparently remains.