Sublime Hate Poem by Daipayan Nair

Hate me
like my own night
which exists
after the clock ticks five
and goes on
till the end of time.

I hear shrill curses
throughout the night

as the good man
shovels the zombies
out of the lawn,
the next morning.

I can see the road
and the yellow taxi
parked by the side.

I turn to look at the
good man, laugh.

'She is quite unique
and consistent, as each time,

she nullifies my surprises
with her own,
she is all the more
surprised'

he says, melting

and the hate continues.