Midnight was in bloom.
The lamp in my room spilled shadows.
With its soft fingers the chill kept pushing me
Under the blanket. It was doing its own work.
On the table my character on papers was undressed.
As I sipped some droughts of self-served coffee,
And mused on the wish list inked on memory,
Outside, the funeral bells jingled and crept in.
In a jiffy I stuck out of window, the chill prohibited.
On such a time of celebration of the New year, death?
Puzzled me. Feelings of insecurity covered me.
The 2015 was being carried by time into space.
Something sparkled in the moonlight. Very incandescent.
I gazed. Some words in golden hue were written.
WORK IS THE NOBLEST THING.
THE SPECIAL THING TO BE CROWNED,
TO BE HONOURED, TO BE TASTED
AGAIN AND AGAIN THOUGH SOMETIMES
SALTY OR SOUR OR A VERY HARD NUT.
HUMAN GLORY LIES IN WORKING.
HAPPINESS HINGES ON IT.