there is something
about those wooden chairs
at the Jameson's Bar.

the way they consume the
yellow brights, I believe
they could have consumed the
sultry nights,the spilled whisky,
the cheap tips and the unspoken
stories.

it's like a polished reflective
demon,that asks me to sit on it
and begin the satanic act of
dissolution of liver.

the way it does so,
I might have lost a hundred stories
to it in the most painful nights
I saw and swallowed within, with only ice.

but I never regretted.
nor shall ever be,
for they have read my stories,
when no one ever could.

If the gods do will,
I shall create my own universe
my own earth for everyone

all your anguish and pains,
the cries and the vain,
shall be the red hot core,
that would burn from within,
untouched and unseen
forever for everyone

all the smiles and dreams of everyone
shall be the skies and stars
bright as ever be,
for we all shall fly once
to hold them close,
to embrace them in nights alone
no matter how far,

the memories and voices
of all our beautiful times
shall be the trees and the oceans
whose smells shall come to us,
when the breeze blows,
taking us to a time, we always wanted

and we shall live and die
within ourselves,with memories
with everyone and their lives
like we used to do,
and become memories or oceans,
stars or smiles
and be alive even after death
on this planet.