The Little Magazine

One more day

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Siddhartha Banerjee

I wish to know your depths. Or shallowness

I criticize myself for my weakness,

I reveal my dark sides to the terrifying, dazzling lights of scrutiny

I lie on my bed in the darkness,

Shivering, frustrated, almost alive

I look vaguely at the crack patterns on the wall,

Trying to decipher the messiah’s message

I try to get my inspirations from the scribbling of insane poets,

Long lost in the obscurity of their schizophrenic hyper-intellectualism.

I flow with the time, seeking solace at the end of every evening,

Yet I fear the coldness of the night staring at me,

Yet I fear the sad urban moonlight,

The desperation in my eyes failing to conceal my consciousness

I fear one more day of hollow music and the smiles that meant nothing,

And the cruelty of loved ones,

And one more day of pin-pricks at odd hours

And the distorted fraternity of a culture gone wrong.

And one more day of disillusionment, of agony, of ecstasy,

And the monotonous painful deaths we die each time we make a compromise,

Days add on days, and I grow old, gradually accepting things.

This copy is posted as it was received. It has not been edited by TLM

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