Pain

You do not cringe when you are young
It is a crime for men to be afraid of
Death; or things more dreadful
Like the barrenness of manhood
Before the skies became too alien to bare
Myself to its prying eyes, I never understood
The pain of being a man

Since then I want to be young, again and again
Sometimes in these desrted lands, the clouds
Come tumbling down to caress my breath. Seven
Summers have passed and still I dread
The solemn oaths of these dusty evenings

And today, when I have loved and lost
These effigies of the past still beckon me
Like a whore with whom I had shared
A wintry night in Shillong.