Lost Cause

By Palak Jain

The glasses looked grim,

that had to be filled with spirits,

and held close enough for an encounter,

that made one part the lips;

There was turmoil on the table,

waiting to be pushed aside,

to make way for a manageable mess,

a mirth of our own making;

The chairs had been reified as a throne,

waiting and withering for a treason,

and there was no charm in that season,

that could make a leaf fall for it;

The windows were unhinged,

in expectation of a breezy bickerence,

that compelled one to jerk a tear,

and tear off the locks on the entrance;

Alas, our pleasantries weren't potent enough,

to stir the bottom,

and cause an upheaval,

so we smiled and coined a repercussion,

that we spent on our reasons to not care.

By Palak Jain