Absence

The heat of the sun is quite severe

This lonely mid-afternoon

I look at the empty bed-stead

For consolation-not a trace

Its desolate bosom

Speaks, as if a language of despair

Yet, its message of emptiness is not without compassion,

Something that I do not quite understand.

Like a dog, master less, who looks

With sad eyes, to express the loss of its inconsolable mind,

Not knowing what has happened and why,

But seeking night and day, pointlessly around

The message of the bed-stead

Is yet more pathetic, even more distressed

The dim pain of that emptiness

Fills the room

With the absence of my beloved.