A multitude of incessant voices, all in varying tones

Screeches of agony, shrieks of laughter, mockery in anger’s pretence

His eyes flickered yet remained fixated on the wane crumpled page alone.

Feet firmly on the ground of an exquisite opportunity but to the heart it made no sense


Bewildered, astonished, he simply couldn’t infer how the page found his briefcase

Midst documents that testified his intellect were these verses that didn’t belong

A piece of poetry, it was, for a long lost mistress, he winced and made a face.

Shook himself for overlooking his ambitions, an act both unacceptable and wrong.


Yet he’d be lying if he said this page didn’t compel him to lean towards transpontine

The wisps of her ombré red hair and the toxic euphoria of her enchanting eyes

Reminiscing about the nights spent next to the woman he dared call mine.

And almost erratically he craved fresh air, left her in the abyss to sob and whine.


Defeated by the merciless flashbacks it was all he could do to keep up with respiration.

Crushed under the insurmountable weight of memories, he reached for his phone

The sole picture he had of her deprived him of sanity, it was anything but a consolation

Enough of retrospection and denial, all that was now left was for him to face the tyranny alone.


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