It’s the last day of the year.
And like all yearends
of the past awakened decades,
an intricate web of discordant feelings
and inharmonious thoughts
flood the bludgeoned heart
and the superheated mind,
dehydrating whatever little piece
of limbo-bound soul or spirit dwells
in the foggy shadows
and misty corners
of poetic ethos.

I bid the painful memories
the bitter goodbyes they deserve
as I keep mementoes
of triumphs of good against evil
- whatever they are, whichever way
the social judges pronounced them to be -
or enshrine the make-believe trophies
of the victories over obstacles,
of conquests of one’s closeted fears.

Tomorrow the New Year promises
another basket of promises . . .
Against a backdrop of darkness
of 12th hour – the midnight of the past year,
the 0th of the coming one – a small candle
persists with its flickering light -
the eternal oratio imperata of hoping
against hope, the soldier of caring and loving,
defenseless but still fighting
- heroes dying “without seeing the dawn” -
May the flame rage, or if it can’t
May it last long enough till sunrise.