...Yet Rather Biographical.

World's End on 30 March 2016, 2000 HRS

Is this the way the world ends?

I think as I walk out of the bright room

littered with minute black twigs.

Maybe it is
 

the faceless, hip-tattooed young lady

with her back to me smoking

by the litter bin. A white screen

unclear for a night sky. Burning

smell and need to see a mirror

drive me to the toilet.

I should have cried, but I don't.

The world shrinks like my head.

I have no inner scream left for the rest

of the year. Two trumpets blow

in place of ears. My hairdresser

must be on a row

with her boyfriend.

 

P.S.: Written in jest...yet rather biographical.

 

Untitled

Our house stays empty

Always. Maybe it is the photos
Framing your smiles worn
like badges, those little mirrors
of memories.

Nowadays I breathe harder trying
to remember the air I used
to live in. The flowers that you insisted

on the dressing table, the jasmine freshness

of your shampooed hair on the bed

wave after wave beating on the cold shore

of my still eyes in the dark.

 

P.S.: Totally fictitious...yet rather biographical.