It’s all at variance; the feeling now after ye move.
166 a place dear now seems so at ease.
Leisurely seated on the blue-tiled stool as writing these,
For depart’d fear of chance you’d see my doing this.

Not ever hoped I that I may glimpse of Thee,
Nor ever dreamt that my sight would cross with Thee’s.
But solace seeking and relish that I stay here,
Near my very own yellow-signed love story.

Even though Thou’s shadow has shifted expectedly,
More of a memory, a picture frame in mind it hath left me.
Yes, it may look silly or crazy some have deem’d.
To this special place frequent I still constantly.

The taint’d white cat cuddles up next to me,
As if it knows me, of my solitary misery.
Occasionally it steals glances; those that pierce right through the soul,
It be like saying: “Easy, I feel for you for I the same fate be.”

Still my thoughts would often play cruel tricks on me.
Thinking how nice it would be if all can restart from time on bridge.
For then, it would still feel like an eternity;
An eternity so perfect in fairy dreams.

How heart-wrenching that sound of bus should pull alongside me,
Snapping me out of my own world; this world of poetic release.
So as light breeze this night ends this week abruptly,
My leaving likened to Enya’s “Deora Ar Mo Chroi”;
“Tears Of My Heart” it sings indeed.