are there months to die in?
or years to live for-
i have
neither lived nor died
in the hours of restitude

sitting cross legged
tea cup in one
the other folded in my lap
reeking
of emptiness and longing;

frail nights perched on the window sill
dark foliage falling
over the neighbour’s wall

an old dog dragging its tail
down the street
a drugged man follows him
hoping to be lead

at the streets corner
young men drink cheap liquor
and draw long on cheaper cigarettes
and  3:38 am
aimlessly waits for the sun

on the other side of this city
cafes brew imported coffee
with some cream on the side
laptops walk in 
sipping deadlines over croissants.

and i wonder across this
parched existence;

are there months to die in
or years to live for …

…

Dee is from lahore. loves old trees, words and surreal nights~