On the long last day of his life, the Buddha sat perfectly still.

But before he passed on he quietly opened his eyes

And said to the blinking disciples around him,

“I wonder what Zayn Malik is doing

Right now.”

In the Bloomberg basement around a square wooden table,

The anarchists were plotting the fall of the government.

Douglas would take care of the guards and I would set the fires

But the really hard work would have to be done By Zayn Malik.

When my father, a businessman, was last abroad,

He walked past the colorful movie posters

And the butcher whose choice cuts were dripping with meat juice.

The one thing he could not avoid Was Zayn Malik.

The other night I met a girl on the street

And we strolled back across the broad lamplit campus.

We entered her room and I found, to my surprise,

That her roommate was my best friend

And she was Zayn Malik.

As a child growing up in East Bowling, Zayn Malik

Would eat roast beef sandwiches on a

Wrought iron bench. He did not look up when

He paid the stand owner and, as he gave over the money,

He choked on his loneliness.