Monday, January 3, 2011

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

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