Loneliness

Tears - watery, saltless, plasmatic
expanded on the rocky terrain
of her weather-beaten face,
like a dam undammed -
in a vast desertic plain.

With her dripping questioning eyes -
Chocolate brown?
(What color is a question?),
and a lone long (strangely long)
trapezoid incisor,
she sat bent, waiting.
Waiting?
What Had she, but loneliness, to wait on for?
(She was old, oh so old,
and alone -
her lone crooked tooth (strangely long)
- part white
quarter yellow
half, question-colored -
punctuated her shriveled features
like an omniscient exclamation mark!)

The Reports spoke, neutrally
of a well-acquainted friend -
Adenocarcinoma uterus,
and requested (even more tepidly)
to evaluate for Anesthesia.

Why, though, did she weep?
What More, at over 3 quarters of a century,
did she long yet to see?
In the dirt-laden poverty of her charity tatters,
what life still, did she yearn for?
What disquieting question did her question-colored eyes,
so questioningly pose?
"Will I live?"
or
"Will I die?"
And which way did they bend, her tired tried hopes?

(My tired tried mind digresses,
its shifting gaze wavers as it settles
like a fluttering moth on a new subject -
Me.
Would you, Madeeha, alone
- at 25 or 75 -
Ever want to live on More?)

Nov 17th, '08.

Today was my first day of house job.