How fleeting are these passions
How fickle the fancy
Is there anything innate:
To this meaning of your own make
Say, love, if I say it all again
With the gravitas, the conviction, all the same
Would it matter even say for argument’s sake
If I was never the one you wanted to stay
And how can I ask you to kiss the cancer that grows
In place of the love of the one before
Crippled little heart, never whole
My name withheld, in too many stories untold
So wanders this nameless through the ages
With burdens to carry, with faces to bury
A protagonist of a demented little show
A footnote in stories, overlooked, unabsolved
A DESI MUFFIN 