When push comes to shove
One of these cold nights
When darkness thrived
I made a tryst; a rendezvous with Vesper
An oval ball of light.
White, Serene, a symbol of tranquillity.
They call it the moon;
While lullabying others to sleep –
Myself to a pensive mood.
Why is it being so sarcastic?
Flashing that idiotic grin,
As if laughing at my loneliness.
Everywhere I look, everybody I see.
Is in a state of bliss.
In flights of fantasy, in search of peace.
I envy them, hate them, loathe them, resent them.
My quest for peace, my flights of fantasy,
Has brought me Hell.
Which I mistook for Heaven.
I pick up the syringe but the vial’s empty.
So are the crumpled tablet foils adorning the floor,
With the only furniture – empty bottles, wrappers and old journals.
My flight just ended.
I wonder, I speculate.
In distaste, I picked up my knife.
Ivory crafted, Sharp, Beautiful, Exquisite.
A piece of art, indeed.
Useful to cut Marijuana.
And my Veins.
In the horizon, I see the rising sun.
An opaque ball of fire.
Illuminating the dark and dreary.
A source of energy for them.
But dreadful for me.
‘Cos the tepid yellowness is brighter!
Brighter than the reddishness of my veins.