Dear February

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

‘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

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.