Note – The majority of this poem was scribbled in my notepad in less than 15 minutes while on a night out.
The lights gently dim,
a red glow dominates the bar.
My merry band of friends
continue their meaningless drinking games,
ignorant of the change of atmosphere.
Seventh pint of the day,
I am still sober.
Offered another drink,
it would be rude to refuse.
Drinks and dignity flow,
just another British night out.
The birthday girl
lights up her tiara.
No one takes notice,
just another birthday
in 60 million.
The birthday boy
throws up on the dance floor.
No one takes notice,
just another birthday
in 60 million.
The couples kiss,
the singles sigh,
the girls leans over,
whispers in my ear,
“What are you doing tonight?”
My heart takes over,
I smile, I grin, I slobber.
She is still keen,
I am pleasantly surprised.
I reply “what do you want to do?”
She laughs,
my friend taps his watch,
points to the door and signals,
last train home in five minutes.
My mind rapidly races,
decisions made at the speed of light.
By choice or chance,
I find myself on the last train back.
No regrets, no loss.
There is always another day.
– Kishor Krishnamoorthi.
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