‘Sunrise.’* You breathe out
As the sky swirls
Its majestic colors
Of blue, orange, yellow, pink
‘It’s always lovely isn’t it?’
‘It’s one of the lovely
And lonely things,’ I sigh.
I’m sorry that
I just can’t help
Myself sometimes
On seeing the sad in
Beautiful, beautiful things.
I know you said
That it’s because I’m doubtful
But then, no.
Some things are just that.
Flawed.
We just fail to see
Past its beautiful exterior.
‘What could be possibly lonely
About the sunrise?’
You inquire (and
I love that you would want to
Hear some explanation I have).
‘Hope,’ I called out
‘Doesn’t it symbolize hope?
Doesn’t it sprays out the message
Of a new beginning?
As if you can undo all the
Wrong things—but you can’t.
Hope breeds eternal misery,
Doesn’t it? It’s effing lonely.’
It could be weird but I certainly don’t
See the sunrise as billions of eyes see it.
I had expected you
To give me a look and tell
Me to stop seeing the sadder side,
Goodness knows that what everyone does—
‘Here,’ You reached out your hand
I gave you a strangle look
‘Take it,’ your amused voice floats
‘So we could walk together and
Look like sad gits together and
Ponder on what makes sad things sad.’
But by then I am in no way
Sad, I could the happiest
Person alive.