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[artsymessstuff]

THE ROOM

Our room is yellow. It's a faded yellow. 

We have a red curtain, an orange curtain, a beige curtain

 and some more curtains of some more colours.

 We have a soft bed, with a yellow cover over;

 the cover too, once a lively green now faded into a lurid yellow. 

One never knew a sickly yellow until one came here.

 We have a fridge, two old fans and an endless march of spoons and plates.

 Do they feel lonely too?

On some days I  feel the sorry gaze of the old fan,

 going round and round with a warning tremble above us. 

Maybe it's tired too, Atleast I wish it was sorry too. 

Spinning all day and all night

 hooked to a white, plastered, cracking piece of a wall.

 And yet we both seem so far from each other.

 The only noices I hear are the numbing hums of the fridge

 and the distant clatter of the ware.

 And once in a while the noice subsides

 and I hear my sighs bouncing off of the empty shell of a body I am. 

And then, I feel lonely too.