Pretend the pain isn’t yours
Don’t know where I picked it up from
Lying on the sidewalk, perhaps?
Splattered on asphalt?
Ripped out of a throat hoarse with grief?
A friend? A relative? Foe, even?

3.30AM and it isn’t late enough
Why, barely has the age died out
Sanity has cut the curtains
But insanity is yet to make its exit

Too young, too young to weep
Too old to scream
Too mediocre to sigh
Too flashy to mourn

Ah and this isn’t the fiddle
Play, be played
Dance, danced with,
Danced to
Funny that, innit?

When all the tunes you wish to play aren’t yours
And all those that are,
Aren’t what you wanted?

Ah poor soul, poor thing
‘Tis has no rhythm, no rhyme
For life no longer has melody

Oh, sweet, sweet melody
Now only a memory.
Sigh.
A memory, erased.

By – Rizna MR

Image Courtesy: Author