The cricket sang a sad song tonight.
I never understood what he was saying.
All I heard was mere chirping
but I knew it sang a sad song.

The night was cold
and an old man was sleeping in the couch.
The TV was left on, leftover food was on the table
and the old man was snoring.

On the other room,
An old woman was sleeping on her bed.
Her eyes were now dry with tears she just shed,
the lamp left on, her eyeglasses on the side table
and the old woman was sound asleep.

The cricket sang  a sad song tonight.
I never understood what he was saying.
All I heard was mere chirping
but I knew it sang a sad song.

The night was warm.
A middle aged man who had a beard was looking at his things,
trying to figure out what should go to the bin.
Old photos stacked on his lap, a few movie tickets he held,
an old rusty ring
and memories of the past that he wanted to bring back.

The night was warm.
A middle aged woman who had long wavy hair sat outside her house,
stars under her, the moon shining bright.
The woman was under the light yet she felt otherwise

The cricket sang a sad song tonight.
I never understood what he was saying.
All I heard was mere chirping
but I knew it sang a sad song.

Because somewhere, where the cricket sings,
hearts are broken and left untended.
Because somewhere, where the cricket sings,
people leave people, nothing being said

The MVP took a day off.
There was no game today.
No practice, no training, no press conferences.
He lazed on his soft king-sized bed
trying to set his mind straight.
Exactly twenty four hours and eighteen minutes ago,
he was in the arena.
Sweating his *** off, running, jumping, scrambling for the ball.

It was the finals, game 7.
Fans filed up in their lines, cheering for the MVP.
Fourth quarter, with only three seconds to go.
The opposing team has possession
His team leading by one.
Ball was inbounded
Caught by his man.
A shot was fired
He jumped
He was too late.
Bucket.
Buzzer.
Fans cried out of disappointment.
The opponent celebrated pouring champagne,
confetti flying around the arena.
His teammates heading to the locker room.
He lied face down, tears gushing from his eyes.
And in that span of a fleeting moment,
his life flashed before his eyes:
His dying father calling his name;
the love of his life that got away;
his only shot at winning the gold.
All those times, he was a moment short.
Short of hearing his father’s voice.
Short of being with his true love.
Short of winning a title.
All that is too late now
because the moment has passed.