Thursday, April 21, 2011
Emptying the half full bottle
He fills up his half empty soul.
He thinks the world has lost its balance
And every night, only he walks upright, back home.
Secretly talking to his inner self out loud
Thinking aloud about the people around.
He wakes up the silent lanes with his qualms.
And wails in accord with the canines’ alto howls.
He trips at his doorstep, and stumbles over his tongue.
Wretched, in his wife’s iris he stands, framed into a frail reflection.
With his palm over her head he vows, seeking redemption.
Only to come a full circle, the next day, once again.