Poetry

You were starving the words 
to commit the waves of hunger. 
What I wanted was a patch of shade 
under an olive grove. 
 
No intrusion. It was a miscarriage 
of justice. We were searching the - 
missing links between the years 
of misunderstandings. 
 
We sell our gods and move on 
unquietly to understand the- 
lament of middle of the road, when 
sun was nestling in the clouds. 
 
It was Fall. Fall of vanity, fall of 
integrity. Fall, fall- 
my pride, my tears. The season 
was changing.