Inescapable oblivion

I see you every Saturday evening,
In your high heels and short skirt;
lipstick so carefully put,
Your face painted with the shades
You wish to be recognized by.

I see your insecurities seep through the cracks at the corners of your mouth
As you fidget with the tassels on your dress.
You call for me every week while I wish to forever be at your doorstep;
The same one you stumble onto after a night of haze you insist on calling ‘Life’.

Your footsteps move in tandem with your hips,
Which as they falter make something inside me skip a beat.
But I,
I never come to your rescue. I wait for you to call me,
Walk up to me and ask for help.
And I, unfailingly, oblige.

I transport you to a new world week after week and take you back to reality.
I want to ask you if there’s someone else, too
Whose breath gets caught in the tangles of your hair.
You smoothen them out with a straight face,
But what do you have to hide from me?

I know six years ago you were afraid this city will spit you out like a piece of bad fish,
And now,
You drink in its lights, its noisy rhythm now a sweet symphony.

And I saw it all unfurl
As I rang your doorbell to tell you I was waiting;
For another round of clinking glasses and hollow laughs,
All clearly audible from my side of the door.
I cross my hands and wait,
Because I don’t want to save you
For then, I would lose you.

But I do wish to whisper a few words to you every now and then.
Hah, but what do you care?

All you feel is the hum of the engine,
All you hear is my silence, and
All you see
Are two white gloves and the back of a head.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s