The Last Page
The feeling of impulsive sensitivity,
the beginning,
the search for the meaning
of despondent emotion,
the end.
That was my realization
when I was at the threshold
of the fading twilight zone
and my marooned mind sank in despair,
contained.
When the day’s last wind began to blow,
I saw my shadow lengthen
in the corridor of the past.
I tried to saunter on the fervent footprints
buried desolate under the delusive dust,
while the last mile waited to be walked.
My life’s story written in a tome
of unending miserable episodes
described in distressing chapters
that continued to drag on.
I decided to not turn the pages any more,
wished the last poignant page was missing,
perhaps never written,
or replaced by a new page
unfolding the chronicle of dreams.
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