The last song of love

If I have to struggle

to remind you that
I am there
then there is no reason
for me
to exist for you.
The Savannah calls me.
I can be there
where they prey
without pretending love,
Where,

I will know
who kills and how far
is my territory.
If I have to wait forever
and go away without love,
then there is no reason
to go and find the
Gul Mohur on fire,
there is no reason to
try to listen to the whispers
of footsteps on the dried
leaves in my driveway.
If I want,

The Savannah is already dry
and I can put fire to it
in my moments of ecstacy.
And footsteps?
They are dreaded here
since such sounds bring death
and that too, not in whispers
but through the air,

with mists of blood.

For a lion,
The confined streets of
Manhattan is not its
Territory.

The buildings are too high.
The vast grassland of the
Savannah is it's home,

He can see over the grass

and know who is coming.