On the last day of January
My mail buzzed
A message alert… whose?

Written to me in bruise
Agony in every word on the subject
I did sense a solitary lifer

“Leave my calendar:”
Arrh!
What a reject;

    ‘White bandages and patches
    You’ve left me torn and battered
    It is high time
    A dumb utters
    An expression
    To tell you:

    How much I truly hate you’

Could it be that expensive?
…This I wondered

Like a toper
Reading aloud
The blue on blue lines

Rechecking
And soliloquizing
If it was meant for me

“Leave my calender
Dear February”,
It truly addressed:

  • Verse II
    1. ‘You have been so unfair to me
      If you may don’t be dismay
      Close your eyes and

      Hit the hay
      For I’ve had your day
      Celebrated in an unusual custom

      Sat all night and day
      Torn between you and reality
      Wondering why

      No cards or a drawn heart
      Candies, flowers, or a mere gift
      I guess I am

      But
      A love bird
      Without a love poem.

      I hate to say it, but I know
      Several reasons I hate
      Is that my birds no longer mate

      On your fourteenth day
      Yet to me you say,
      “Fourteenth is your day”.

  • Verse III
    1. Dear February
      Why would you say
      Love be shown
      To me…
      Only on a val day?
      Why would you?

      Dear February belive me
      You are nothing but agony
      Puncturing me like nails to tyres
      My heart they call a colander
      Retains nothing
      But bruises bump by blunders.

      In and out
      Love passes me through
      Battered yet
      Cupid patches…
      Every single one of it
      Giving me a motif of colours

      I have to get use to it
      Leave my calender
      Dear February

      God saves the best
      Of all,
      Red’s still the colour
      Guess that’s the reason
      I bleed
      Dear February

      Who is my val this time
      Let em’ come in
      Love and leave.

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