In you all things are changing, less fire, more water,

 sometimes you wake up as though you never slept at all,

 you are falling back behind the lines, it reminds you of

 retreating armies, you think it cowardly, you are most

 cruel to the weakest, you don't really know if you are

 finally letting go or clinging to things you should have

 let go long ago, you sift through memories of others-

 a slave in ancient Greece, a Sufi saint in Ajmer,

 a concubine in China, you are all of them and none

 of them, you wonder if that is the fifth dimension

 he told you about? You, who once fell in love 

with the crowd in Times Square, New York, gets

 a headache when assaulted by loud voices, the movements

 of too many people disorients you. You seek out the sunlight,

 you look for love in corners of books, you turn out

 cupboards, run that deserted stretch of road, you are

 changing, fighting, swallowing, choking until you are so 

exhausted, but it takes you so long to fall asleep, hours go

 by and you wait for the enveloping peace that only 

sleep brings, you sometimes end up crying because

 you are losing out on people, people whom you love

 and people who love you, you can see them trying so hard

 to pull you up but you are unable to stretch your hand, 

you are retreating and you don't know how to go back,

 how to reverse it and go back to that point

 where everything would be alright again.

Waking up, walking to your door, waiting for you

I don't know why I suddenly feel homesick
or some sort of sick, like something is missing
and it's breaking my heart not to have it, only
 that I don't know what it is. Some things I am
 learning to admit to myself, for instance,
I am needy in quite a pathetic way. Maybe
 if I had your arms around me or even just
 a few of your words whispered to me, if I was
 running around getting the cake knowing that
you are in the room next door, your living
breathing presence, not two kilometers away
because it is simply cruel to be parted by ten hours
of the night and several more of the daylight hours.
 It hurt less when you were two thousand kilometers
 away, sometimes distance doesn't sink your heart
 the way nearness does. Ask anyone. But then how
 would anyone know? How can anyone feel the way
 I do about you, that in this moment suspended in time,
the world is blurring, other people are but specimens
too bland, too interesting, too old, too new and they
somehow couldn't arrive at the perfection at which
you somehow did and here I am
 waking up, walking to your door, waiting for you.

The coming of an end always leaves you

with a falling heart, even the desired end

 after which you assumed all the delights

of your deprived life would rush back to you,

sweep you of your everyday-wake-up-and-read-eat-sleep

routine.You are leaving behind something of yourself,

and this isn't the first time nor do you think this will be the last,

the places you have left behind, the little rooms, the shelf of 

overflowing books,the beads spilling out of your drawer,

 tablets competing with your clock for space in your bedside table, 

the waking up, the putting to sleep, you know that with each end

 you are letting go or being let go or both, hands that were wrapped 

around you won't catch you when you fall, you get on the plane

 like you always do, and you can't help feeling empty

 because some things were getting mended, and being let off 

such misery can be overwhelming, you have always wanted

 this end, counted the days to this end,

 but with it you are losing something you don't quite know.