Loner 2

 

He was tired

Of unending days of gray.

Smoke-spitting evenings,

And dark silence of nights.

He had once read

A pretty love poem

In a sad, sulking twilight

To lit up its face with a kiss.

He had watched ever since,

The afterglow of his love

Dimming with every stroke of time

He had remained silent,

Trying not to cry.

He was told,

There are things more important

Than love and love poems.

And the sorrow of this twilight.

So he wished every night,

For tomorrow to be a new day.

With pastel hued mornings

And glittering afternoons.

A beginning often marks an end,

The whispering dreams

Of these dear dark nights,

Had to be muted.

So he did,

Silently sucking the life

Out of a burning love

And letting out the tarnished warmth

In little clouds of smoke.

He looked back, for the last time...

As far as he could

And saw nothing.

When they all waved,

With misty eyes,

He knew it was time.

He picked his bag, confused, and left...

The sadness of the end

The joy of a beginning...

He could not feel it

And tried not to pretend..

He was, as always,

A lonely man.

(c) Ankur Srivastava