When it’s nothing – nada left in me for you to love
and the meaning of the words compels them to expire,
I will make it crystal clear, free to stay or go,
out of burning midnight oils and exhausting fires,

in perspicuous exonerative way. I’ll rain
in your times of drought, when silence’s killing for survival ,
when the last of scribbled hopes is down the drain
and the lore connects two eyes of your split-tongue-like rival.

O’er my pride I’ll freeze – a monitor from vicious bugs
and accept the heaven’s package deal with peccadilloes.
What was dearly bought and given free for us
lives and dies in me like haunting, flung, and wrathful billows.

8 May 2009