Baby, we laughed all day,
I closed my head around that penny of happiness.
Returned home and dropped it into my empty box.
Collecting pennies as I go,
Minding my own business,
It’s all there is left to do.

The screeching talk numbs my ears,
Her tears fall and I watch unperturbed.
Am I a sinner?
Of what sin do I accuse myself?
I only look down and patiently wait for her to leave,
Mumbling to herself that we will never change.

And so my day begins,
In want of an intoxicant,
To wash away the night’s fear.
And so I search,
Sorting out people one by one,
Hoping to collect more than pennies,
Probably make some money out of it,
Afterall isn’t money all about happiness?

A book for everyday
to drive away those pangs of sadness
that creeps up on a low dull Tuesday afternoon.

Warm memories
glowing like the sun
to fill in those lonely sundays
while drinking your hot cup of steaming tea.

Roads strewn with autumn leaves in sepia
Reebok shoes lightly stepping on the pavement
as he walks away.

Wilderness in the middle of the city
lost with trees all around
as your mind picks its fancy.

Watch as your hair flies in the wind
jauntily twisting in and out of his reach
chuckling to yourself
suddenly proud of your unruly tresses.

Rain
on a warm bright Sunday
Nature has its own crazy games.
The sun streaks in and around clouds
keeping to its majestic posture
unsettled my impish clouds
that grin in a delightful chorus.

And all of a sudden
a metaphorical object
seems lame,
truer to its original state
And we just laugh at how selfish we are,
to make something mean more than it ever could.

Happiness can be anything,
watching dead leaves flicker in stagnant water,
street dogs chase each other in the sunlight,
fill your thoughts with images you saw from a movie when you were 5
watch your huge coffee as the sugar slowly sinks in through the froth
walk along cobbled streets,
grinning at the anonymity of the place.

Why do my eyes feel like I've just cried,
Why am I so tired,
Why do I value my sleep so much,
Why do I wait for that phone call?

I don't mull like I used to.
Trapping myself,
and bundling until i trip and stumble over the boxes.
No.

It's
a grotesque happiness.
Beautifully distorted,
Set as images,
that you can click from your desktop.

Yet,
on the sullen side,
there's a normal craving
to receive what I expect.
But it doesn't numb me anymore,
not anymore.