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Tears of love.

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In hours so wee,
feeling so feeble,
and tired of loving
but with none to love,
he sat in his study,
hid himself behind whiskey,
a sheet and a pen.

Too much in solitude,
in a drunken slur and smudged ink,
with numb fingertips and heavy eyelids,
he wrote with his mind, and, perhaps,
a little bit of his heart,
words he thought deep.

Done, insane,
and back in his bed
he shed and wiped,
barren tragedy tears,
(because) of a thing(s)
that he will always have
and be willing to share
but that they never give:
sunshine,
and love.

………………………………
Alexander Twinokwesiga.
Kampala, Uganda.
August 2013.

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