My Interview

The wall has grown all black, upto the circling roof.

Roads are empty, travellers all gone.

Once

My night begins to converse with its loneliness;

My visitor I feel has come once again.

Henna stains one palm, blood wets another;

One eye poisons, the other cures.

None leaves or enters my heart's lodging;

Loneliness leaves the flower of pain unwatered,

Who is there to fill the cup of its wound with color?

My visitor I feel has come once again,

Of her own will, my old friend--her

Is Death: a friend in need, yet an enemy--The murderess and the sweetheart!