The Bar of Life

By Ishika Aggarwal

Glasses clink to roars of laughter,

Overshadowing the sniffles of blushed noses,

Whilst the liquids splashed over their rims,

With saline droplets an unprecedented addition.

In the corner disintegrating and damp,

With hair as silver as the ring on his finger,

He held in his wrinkled hands, a glass of grief,

Half full with loss, half empty with bliss.

A handful of ash was where his bliss lay,

As well as the source of his lament,

Dizzy with dirges, he spun in nostalgia,

The spring breeze now a wave of sheer gloom.

To his left sat the dilemma of rights and wrongs,

In a royal blue suit, he sipped the drink of distress,

Choked with duties and desires,

The glass weighed upon him like no other cry.

His forehead beamed with laborious efforts,

All of which bore bitter fruits,

Or so it seemed to the eyes drained of hope,

Yet he beamed brighter than any other.

Across him sat the boy at the verge of adulthood,

Held an acceptance letter with one hand and poured passion with the other,

His glass seemed the sweetest of all,

And his tears the byproduct of genuine cheer.

The road ahead clouded with excitement and glee,

His thoughts spinning in boyish dreams,

The glass was soon to be gone unnoticed and empty,

Blissfully unaware of the sour ones to come forth.

By Ishika Aggarwal