He opens those weary eyes,
He raises his head off from the hard pillow under his strained neck,
What had lulled him into slumber were those sweet lullabies,
Of the times that the spent with each other, now it’s all wrecked.

He reaches for the phone, but stalls in transition of a thread of thought;
Would she be asleep?
His heart shivered under the burden of an unknown distasteful feeling.
It felt, like a vivid emptiness,
It seemed like a random marathon of thoughts,
Followed dead close by unidentifiable emotions.
He retreats from the idea of making the call.

He thinks to himself,
That even if he did call her,
What would he tell her?
She’d think that he was, for another time, out of his mind,
With the slightest perfume of his intense desire,
His maddening crave for her love,
Or even for a mere, “I miss you”.
What would he say to her to make her understand his situation?
What would he tell her,
So that she could give just a minute of the night, to the tears of his aching heart?
Would anyone help him, and tell him, how he could regain his salvation?

Without the slightest idea of his next move,
With all the melodrama that had just trifled his mind,
He goes ahead and picks up the phone,
With nothing but determination and courage,
And an intent of amicability to reign in his soft but engraving words.
But he satisfied the fire of his burning heart,
With just the mere voice of a pre-recorded woman, denying his master plan.

Defeated, he returns to rest,
Placing his aching head on the hard pillow under his strained neck,
Now lulling him into slumber are those sweet lullabies,
Reminding him of the times that they spent with each other,
Pulling him into his own paradise,
Like a kiss on his forehead, telling him “Good-Night”.


-aftab roowala