A Christmas Verse for the Thirteen (or, Seventeen)

I see a drop of blood
Rolling down the fake leaves of my Christmas tree
Losing itself in the shifting colours of the lights
I feel a bitter taste in the cheap wine I drink
Of small dreams that have been laid to rest,
Or drowned rather
In a cold place trapped by walls of stone
In my chocolate cake, I sense a smothered life,
A breathless face that will become one with the mud
As I make plans for my weekend,
I feel a nudge on the shoulder, whispers in my ear

I watch the lights of my town glimmer, the structures veiled by night
Standing on the bones of the unknown
I hear happy laughter and excited squeals,
As gifts are opened and pictures taken,
And like harlots for attention,
Shared for responses more precious than the air to breathe
More precious than the air to breathe
But we are breathing
There is no frigid rush of deathly water,
no need to cry for escape.

I can only wish the Thirteen (or Seventeen)
Or, a number forgotten,
A Merry Christmas in the abyss

If you were never to see the world again,
Thank you for your sacrifice.

All images by Abhishek Saha

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Silvester Phanbuh Written by:

Silvester Phanbuh has made his way back to Shillong via Yahoo!

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