Rhapsody at Midnight

A lump rises in his throat.

It is 12:20 am and there is a

faint sound of dogs barking

on the street. A void begins to grow

within him from the centre of the heart and

spreads slowly. It weighs

down everything. It is like being

abandoned on a gloomy overcast day

by the ones who don’t want

you anymore. Loneliness hits him

hard like a bullet going through

someone’s head. Just a shot and he

falls down on the ground with the

thick warm crimson fluid oozing out

and making a small puddle on the carpet.

Sadness is subjective. 

Playing with Broken Glass

“Some will win. Some will lose.  Some were born to sing the blues”

                echoes Journey’s song on the radio.

Night is as dark as the coffee I drink.

                2 am.  Smoke of cigarettes creates a haze,

not a White haze but a Blue one.

                The sound of silence is broken by the shattering of the glass.

The shards of glass are strewn across the floor.

2:16 am, the Blue haze still persistent.

I pick up a few pieces and observe them,

some catch my fancy and some instantly make me uneasy.

Shards of glass like debris of memories lie motionless 

on the floor, glistening in the light.

I look through a piece. All that I feel and see are Blue memories.

Blue. Not Black. Not White. But Blue.

No, I’m not colour blind. I know the world is Black and White.

Beyond the dichromatic hues, only the shades of Blue are visible.

I drop all the pieces and by mistake step on a piece of glass.

I bleed Blue.