"My loneliness is filled with people," Kafka states.

Loneliness once:
Night times - the worst, amid winter darkness
days end in haste, day-ends prolong like childhood's gummy sweets
in the hands of street vendors, unkempt, unwashed
lips not even touching the mom-water cup,
yet, devouring in full trust those stretchy rainbow-colored sugar treats

loneliness now:
Filled with sounds of indecipherable joy

two person bed in the morning, two person bed at night
quiet at night time but witness to a commotion at dawn
The family of birds, greeting each new day, in non-stop frenzy
housed in my bedroom's right corner window crevice,
frantic back and forth wing-clapping
chirping
twitching
beak-to-wall-knocking
fighting off intruders.
How many birds were victims to slings of childhood's neighborhood boys,
wood and ribbon killers of baby aviators
on their way to flying classes

loneliness now:
Filled with sounds of indecipherable joy