I wonder,
Why it had to be you?
Why not a frame of white dust,
Sent from the fortitude by Diana,
Resides in the hutch of my heart -
To pacify my soul into an effigy of melting mirth?

Why not a vessel of bitter bile
Of the eternal animosity,
That shall pluck the blossom of the elate,
That was blooming into a bud,
In the eternal parched shore of my heart,
With its acerbity?

I wonder,
Why it had to be you?
Why not a thorn of cactus,
That bore the vehemence of torrid cruelty,
To let my heart fathom -
The misery of this soil and the smell of toil?

Why not the boiling Aral Sea,
That is subliming like fragile fog-
Leaving the creations to perish in the salt smeared element,
Which is not anymore the molten pacifier?
I quest to fathom their ache,
Their dyspnea,
Not the ache of my burning soul.
I long to escape from this hollow cajole.

I wonder,
Why it had to be you?
Why not the cry of the soul -
Caged by the shackles of affliction
Withering from the harrowing grief,
Like the agonized burning leaf?

Why?
Screams my heart,
I wish this soul goes numb,
And the dolour no longer maul -
My untouched soul like an ogre;
And let thy being fly from woe's thrall.