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.

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Posted on January 4, 2010, in Poem. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. The Poem has a somewhat modernistic yet gothic subtleties crafted into itself, the very representation of despair. In introspect, I have discovered myself being turning into an aficcionado of your work!

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