UNLIKE ALWAYS

Your absence is certain

Too much than your presence.

Sidewalks are empty.

Unlike always,

And no one sits on the

Benches in the garden.

But these sheets are filling.

I m filling them.

Marks of the soft blue chelpark ink.

Sometimes black

As the black they depict.

As the harsh they reflect .

I am not writing an astrophe

I am writing love

I am writing about the

Half travelled path

I am writing about

Some summer eves and

Some winter morns

I am writing about the hunger of being together

About the songs, about the talks.

Punctuations of my poems has changed

With more full stops

With more pain.

Your flamboyance is too much for me.

Certainty of your absence is too much for me.