Shouvik Roy (26th january 1992 / Kolkata)

I get up,
From my withered bed,
Feel the floor
With my cold feet
And know it's a morrow,
I push the window, but
The sun is nowhere to see.
A table shining,
laughing alone,
'Sit on me,
I shall eat your brain,
There shall be no sun
For you,
So sit on me slave,
Forever'
I obey him,
Sheets and ink
Rest on his sly skin,
I write and write,
Like no other day.
My nerve would say its morn
But then its eve,
Miss Time ran away,
No time for you she would say,
Now it's dark, and as I see,
There's the moon up above
But no glee,
Just my laughing table and me.
My withered bed is calling,
I should go to sleep
For the wily laughs of a new day
And tales of running away.