The sound the colour the smell of lonliness

11th February 2020

The sound,

 the colour, 

the smell,
of loneliness

Chattering voices of passers  by
they knock me, bump into me,
talk together, listen, ear to ear
like trees bending towards each other.
Their conversations intimate, warm, 
 not for me.
Loud laughs, shared, shaped in friendly
 linked chains
says, you are important to me,
echo's in my head,
but, no portion for me.
They do not want to, will not
can not,  hear me,
hear,  the buzzing inside me that
craves some part, of someone.
I,  am a grey blob, in their path
blending with  clouds
those clouds closing in,
I seep anonymously  into
dirty black streets
where they walk with blind feet,
their cherry blossom scent
a comfortable garden ,
every flower belonging.
I am the whiff of the dung heap
to them
to be avoided, passed quickly by.