Memories of Last Night

© Farhan Shaikh

Memories of last night burn my throat;
In the morning, I lay on the grass, under the sun.
The sting runs down my throat, into my stomach,
Like a bile rising, rising, consuming me.

The obelisk of the night has passed,
Turned into the gentle blue as the sun shone bright.
The part of the night now resides in me, under my eyes,
Like a pit that grows, grows, enveloping me.

The deadness of the night before screams aloud.
My ears ring with the white noise, not the birdsong.
The dulling quiet is imbibed within my soul,
Seeping in through my pores, flowing, flowing, drowning me.

The hunger that followed the hazy end,
The parched throat the next morning,
What does a dead man eat, as he wanders the desert?
I wait at the horizon, but I slip, slip, losing me.