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When the Clock Strikes Nine

Published: 17 May 2019

The Sun has set on me again today
but I do not feel the darkness
as I have felt it creep before,
every night when the clock
struck nine.

It's just another end of a long line
of a verse needed to be written down,

like a corridor that echoes with
the laughter of happy coders joking
about giving gifts of rice and eggs
instead of useless purple flowers—
meaning no offence;

like a short strip of concrete
where your black sandals walked on
with strength and courage, knowing
I have eyes on the back of my head
and on the sides;

that even in the middle of conversations
with office politicians, I see— and see
the battle in the corner of your eyes
where the iris fights with the invisible
forces of a distress

unduly caused by my wandering mind.