I'm not really fond of mornings in general.
But I can certainly be the stereotypical
Greedy queer antagonist in any of those
Picture-perfect superficial fairytales
To listen to your half-coarse morning voice
While you're still half-asleep
And telling me extensively about your
Beautifully hotch-potch Kafkaesque dream
Where you watch a magnificent dance
Of a theatrical dancer and fall for him.
Though knowing the fact that
The dancer is actually gay, you just
Somehow go to the other room
From the hall, only to eat rice-puffs
While chatting with your grandma
And few of the local policemen.
Now, you look at me through
The lashes of your half-closed eyelids,
Whining for the dancer of your dreams...
And trust me, one needs to have
An unparalleled kinda privilege
To be someone who can be present
To console you through each morning.
Well, darn morality, I'm all for privileges
If the perks are anything that is
Even closely towards or around you.
As you know more than anyone else
On this planet's face that after all,
I ain't called The Depraved Niece of a Witch
For a goddamn nothing.
25/10/2023
YOU ARE READING
Memories of Future
PoetryThe yearnings that are thought and rethought with such intensity for so many times, that those are not just desires anymore. Those are the moments that have already happened in the senses, and they can be considered 'Memories' now. But, those memori...
