You come by
every now and then
You don't tell me why
neither do I ask you
I mix us both drinks
the usual,
just a tad stiffer
than the last time
(we need it)
My living room
is where I sell you
reassurance and endurance
You stopped talking
the night I stopped listening;
so now I do most of the talking
They say purple umbrellas are the in-thing, this monsoon
Did you hear of this new salon that has opened up?
Ah, my boyfriend - he is such an adorable sleep-talker
All this while I notice –
the purple bruises on your ankles
the blisters on your hands
your eyes sore with fear
But no, we don't talk about all that;
Why wish away our woes, when we can pretend and make-believe?
What we don't acknowledge, does not exist!
You listen
You get high
You slur
You want to be silent
but your stares are intrusive and questioning
and then I know -
you are ready for the same old lies
And then I lie
about hope
I talk of statistical proof
I talk of super heroes
I talk of human kindness
(and the play I saw last night, that made me choke)
I talk of
how a lion adopted a baby antelope
in Kenya, not too long ago
It is all about faith
It is all about learning to wait
What else do I say
when I know - what you want; and that you want it bad
when I know - you try; and that you try hard
and I know it is still not possible
So I lie
about hope
Good - you know not
that hope
is just another four lettered profanity
Good - you know not
that I have buried,
in my backyard,
about two dozen
bruised dreams like yourself
murdered by skepticism
And while you fear that
the end may just be around the corner,
I hope that
the end actually is
