no prayers
no worship
no seekers
and no search
just a step
a single change
not the sea
but a raindrop

my ideals
are not like gifted lies
or mirrors so thin
that i'm lost within

my ideals
are not like azure skies
or roads so long
that i'm all wrong

my ideals
are not like happy sighs
or an alley so blind
that i've a captive mind

my ideals
yes, they are all mine

a drop of your own
a ray that had shone

among all the toys
amidst all the noise
bare of all the bright
is a message of light
the light says to me
that i must let it be
for i'm an inky stranger
better outside the manger

It's been eleven days since I stood by your side and watched the light in your eyes dissolve into your release and my captive tears.

It's been eleven days since I covered you in your cream towel and kissed your forehead, while it was still warm.

It's been eleven days since I let you go from being my honey bunny baby boy to the deceased pet whose CUPA number was 1551.

It's been eleven days since I came back home without having you standing at the landing or barking at me from downstairs.

It's been eleven days since I came home to find your blue medicine bowl and steel meal bowl empty and dry.

It's been eleven days since I put away all your medicines into a big red packet that you were sniffing at madly just a week ago.

It's been eleven days since I put your chains, collar, bedding, and your red brush into a big box you would have loved to chew.

It's been eleven days since I started sleeping with a big gap around my knees that you, and only you, could fill that snugly.

It's been eleven days since I have come home to hear no complaints about all your misdeeds from the day.

It's been eleven days since I have seen anyone at home have their routine biscuits with their tea.

It's been eleven very long days. I hope you're good, lazing with Rustom thinking of your next meal, while the current one is still awaiting digestion. Maybe you will bump into Jimmy or Stupi. Maybe you will all sit and woof away about us. Maybe once I'm there, too, we can play chase, eat Marie biscuits, and nap chest-to-chest at eleven in the morning. Maybe :)

the best dressed lie
of all our lives
is the endless sea
where loneliness thrives