Poetic Flights: Pour Me That Drink

Sunday 30 August 2015

A musing of a wandering mind

Pour me that drink my stranger,

Your eyes don’t seem that different.

I am not the victim of your gentle water,

The path to the counter; courts no danger.

The chairs they talk of the bands crying,

The doors swinging to a leavers touch.

The smoke on the ashes, yet to drift away,

Into the air that leaves, to return never trying.

Pour me that drink my friend,

Your voice is the most familiar, yet unknown.

I wish to be your tag, just to see the view,

From the perched height, holding flows with no end.

The carpets seem dustier since I came,

The glasses show the lights, dimmer than they seem.

The railing seems cold and fingerprinted,

Like call to angels who've seen more nights in fame.

Pour me that drink my love,

Your skin has the glow of a thousand yesterdays,

I am no longer worried thinking of our tomorrow,

Hand in hand, with the brightness in our brows.

The squalor gets too comforting,

The tables you’re neighbors and friends.

The drinks not so cold anymore, to keep my heart

That’s near the bottom already, from sinking.

Pour me that drink foolish mirror,

It’s your reflection you’re talking to.

I am here, waiting on my chair and no other.

You can blame me for the night, if you can.

The day smells different to my eyes,

The streets smiling to the sounds of laughter.

Its eight hours for the killing now,

Waiting for the opening sounds about wise.

Written By Roshan Nair

Poetic Flights