I love to whisper

my poems to myself.

I don’t crave to

read them aloud.

Come; come closer

and try to understand them

from the movements

of my doddering lips,

cracked open, parched

and  senile.

The fall of the empathy

have changed  my thoughts

and will for a while be

uppermost in my mind.

I am whispering

my poems

to myself.

The silence is

thunderous.

Divine coziness

for a poet

who may well be

unstable for some time.

Drinking beer and tossing

the empty cans literally

everywhere looking at the

passionate evening sky.

I love to whisper

my poems to myself.

I don’t crave to

read them aloud.

I want to enliven

the poem’s smoothness

and not dilute them

with my roaring recitals.

Bhuwan Thapaliya 2020