The Diary of Life

By Sahana Yengkokpam

It’s afternoon or so it seems in this little room

Where the sunlight bleeds in through the window

And the musty smell of books fills the whole room

As the dust particles float about in the golden sundown

The ticking of the clock acts like a metronome

The scratches of my pen follows its rhythmic pace

And it composes a familiar melody as I write in a daze

The sun sets as it becomes night fall

And the lamp on my wooden desk luminates my workroom

The cold wind makes the curtains flutter

As the moon shines like the desaturated sun

Where its temperature has reached the shade of cool blue

I look at the book I’ve been writing in

All tattered because of the words that are filling it

The pages flutter because of the wind

As I get a glimpse of my previous shenanigans

Some which were smudged with the ink that didn’t dry

And some with pristine writing

Others that couldn’t be decoded or read

And others written in red

Memories, yes memories is what this book holds

And the future’s past that I’ve yet to write or written because I caved in

I dip my pen once more in the half empty bottle of ink

And write my final words of the day and the end of this book

Before the clock strikes twelve and starts the midnight cravings

My pen taps faster as the end edges near

I mark the last fullstop

And scribble my signature in the limited space

And close the book barely a second

Before the bird living in the clock screams in my face

I place the book in its place along with the rest of its kind

With a gleam of delight on my face

On a dusty shelf in a far away place

The initial excitement fades away as the drowsiness sets in

I drag myself to bed and float away to dreamland

Dreaming about what next to write in my diary of life

By Sahana Yengkokpam