A poem for Blossom on her birthday

Hijrah

I'm wayfaring in my car
I'm sitting in some cafe
The sight of dirty black tar
supposed to lure love away

There's comfort in melancholy
When there's no need to explain
The weather may be gloomy
Not necessarily it is in pain

In our possessive coupling
So much could not be expressed
So now I'm returning to myself
These things that you and I suppressed

I see something of myself in everyone
Just at this moment of oblivion
As rain crushed down like diamond
I see everything in no one

You know it never has been easy
Whether you do or you do not resign
Whether you travel the breadth of extremities
Or stick to some straighter line

I'm porous with travel fever
But you know I'm so glad to be on my own
Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger
Can set up trembling in my bones

I know no one's going to show me everything
We all come and go unknown
Each so deep and superficial
Between the forceps and the stone

I looked at the granite markers
Those tribute to finality to eternity
And then I looked at myself here
Chicken scratching for my immortality

In the dark I light the candles
And the wax rolls down like tears
There's the hope and the hopelessness
I've not cried for thirty years

We're only particles of change for one anew
Orbiting around the sun
But how can I have that point of view
When I'm always bound and tied to someone

Useless tiny bottles of shampoo
As Casuarina tree used for a broom
Sweeping away the dream and the reflection too
From the window of a hotel room

I'm traveling in some vehicle
I’m feeling the spinning wheel
A scene from this cubicle
Tells me the whole thing is unreal.