The seconds hand of the clock goes on an unending whir,
Each ‘tick-tock’ bouncing off my unpainted brick walls in a cacophony of depressing sounds.
The drab minutes merge into oblivious hours
And these hitherto count down slowly to days.
These days are heavy and insipid,
Dragging along misesteemed boredom.
I can’t even keep count anymore
Nor do the morphing days make any significant difference.
What have I done to deserve such uninspiring fate?
I have to leave my haggard bed each sunrise
But the morn makes no other promises
Except that which I dread most
And I’m hence left in a demeaning limbo…
It’s obvious the universe has a bone to pick.
“I don’t want to ever be lonely.”
Is that too much to ask?
The discourse depicting the hollow in my head.
These lagging days are my worst.
Here and now, I am at my most vulnerable,
At the mercy of repressed thoughts and affections.
Yet, I choose to find solace in your companionship
My piercing needs you dare not refuse.
I’m sunk deep in the hole of your conspicuous absence,
Wishing your presence, to illuminate the shadows of these gloomy days.
They scare me, these days,
Like the whirlwind in the meadows
And the silent scowls of the midnight owls…