by
saswata sen
============
Divinity may have called him Faith

But for me he stayeth

The oldest friend

Whose tails so fluffy

And dark as midnight

Raised the curtain of dawn for me

He stood by me

As a messiah when I

Needed to be bathed than

Washed, whose selflessness

 Taught Me little of

The vanity of the nude or

Destroying the self

That I find myself

Writing about him

Again for the Self.

A pity, he never

Wrote a poem

Which for him now

Is but a pelf.