Your prolonged silence upsets the rhythm
of my existence but you go on unaware
or that is what my troubled self feels.
The queer nagging I experience is tough
to endure, let alone be transformed into words.
You may perhaps flare up if I attempt to speak up.
Afraid, apprehensive,I hold back my anguish,
wondering if you would feel the same pangs;
imagining planned reticence behind my seeming silence.
My turbulent mind makes survival a taxing endeavour.