Confessions of a chocolate-eater

Horrid horrid world and tiring songbirds. They depict our reality only too well. Mellow afternoons come and mellower afternoons go; with the same tinge of melancholy, as always. Lonely bus stops often go hazy before my eyes, and, I see a lonely boy wandering through the streets of this strange, strange city.

I only lower my eyes to avert the gaze of my burning self in the sun.

It is me I am talking to, and it is you I want to convey my feelings to. But, you only casually hear what I say, you do not really listen to my epic ballads. I blabber and blabber, without getting to what I really want to tell you. We reach for each other and, deceive ourselves with utmost care and precision!

At last, evening descends. The faint mockery of the setting sun disdainfully turns its face away. It is not dark yet. A pale moon rides on to the horizon. Its bewitching light takes us to a surreal plane, so different from our stay in the sun.

Nobody is going to set the controls for the heart of the sun, in this magic trance where children kiss fairies with effortless grace. Spiral tramlines repeat themselves to the end of the world. The bloodstains of a solitary poet lends colour to the blue-grey hue of a distant star.

Moist with one drop of thy blood, my arid soul!