Tuesday, December 21, 2010


You know the world is not quite right
When you wake up in the morning late
And the beams of light fall into your eyes like pins.
And then your mother’s voice
Rattle on, about duties
 You never fulfilled, mentioning
 The darling daughter next door.
 You can’t bear her sly smile
She wouldn’t lift a finger
Even if she sees her friend murdered.
 But you keep your thoughts to yourself.
And there is sugar in the milk,
 You bite into an apple not quite crisp,
 The toast is burnt coal black
 And the butter doesn’t melt.
 You haven’t talked to him in six days.
 And he doesn’t show signs of making the first move
And callous seems the world.
Too much in a hurry to stop by
And inquire into your troubles and sorrows
You pick up your favorite book
You don’t read beyond a word.
You don’t pick up his call.
 You don’t want to go for dinner
With the man, you thought yesterday
Was the love of your life.
You break the wine glass
While wiping them clean.
 You can’t quite find the paintbrushes
For your Audrey Hepburn pop-art.
 And hot tears of resentment
Stream down your face
 Even though not a single sob escapes
From your embittered mouth,
 Lips drawn in a line.
 And you throw yourself on the unmade bed
 And try to sleep it off.

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