"My solitude is monochrome..."

My solitude is monochrome,

the Bengal lights – more white than yellow.

I do not like to be alone,

but even less among my fellow

man: co-workers, neighbors, hordes

of shapeless forms, far-off relations.

I’d rather lose myself in words,

entangled in their permutations.

I feel myself withdrawing deep

into my nook, more with each passing

(year, week or day?). We fall asleep,

and I’m not worried of trespassing.

Behind us, all doors are closed

and any prior worry scatters.

Against your body, I compose

new poems to your breathing patterns.