A Soiree

In an evening quiet,
Four people meet around a smoke,
teacups glistening against the light,
the fireplace throws at their jewelry,
and plan,
a social plunder.

Dark shadows throw themselves on the wall,
Desperately dancing in delight,
For few good days remain it seems,
And time doesn’t ever last long enough.

The walls loom menacingly,
Smug and uptight,
Their decree sealed:
A fortress meant to bury a secret,
The world would demand to know,
One disaster day.

The conversations don’t last,
But the teas in the cups do,
Perhaps there were more pressing matters at hand…

The shadows finally arise,
Float to the door,
And bid dark solemn farewells.

On the table behind,
Two cigar stubs,
Last remaining embers of the soiree,
Let the horror of the planning sink in,
And finally,
Rightfully,
decide it’s better to die…



-Palash
September’2012, Lumding