Stings of love

Sometimes being surrounded with love stings acutely of loneliness

acidic in rancour and bad taste that you keep cleaning your throat

wondering what is the stink and where is it coming from

Then the Waste Land comes floating by singing

‘April is the cruellest month breeding lilacs …’

then you wish for a bit of banter and a little of nudging

but you made it a practice to saunter alone still

the heart yearns for the surety of a company and looks out

thinking the sky must now turn a brighter shade

though it is raining hard and clouds have put the sun to sleep

you wonder of sunny days and how they must be making their way

to a heart that longs for laughter and hangs on to hopes

even desperately smiling coz don’t thoughts become realities

so the cries are forbidden and they come out in soft sniffles

beneath the blankets in the darkness after the blue light dims

then you comfort yourself thinking how half the world is lonely

that is some assurance as lonely hearts sauntering in summer

may run into each other and create nests of banter and boredom

perhaps the mundane is what is interesting after all it is there

unlike the uncertainity of adventure or the quest for what is unknown.

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