“Everyday, in the afternoon,
When the sun and the clouds are in equipoise,
I look up, with shrunken eyes and shadowed forehead,
To see whether you hide in them,
If those shapes could make some sense,
And I find you walking your dog, laughing aloud,
Driving your car and Dancing in the bar,
Working very hard and playing retard,
Hurting my eyes, head and heart;
I look upon the ground,
Tossing a stone as cold as your soul,
Realisation is a fantasy,
Omnipresence is not your genre, but Obsession is mine.”