Posted in Bad Memories

Night Owl

As I close my eyes yawning loudly,
All the black memories stand in queue,
As if I wanted to remember one by one,
Standing in a perfect line, moving slowly.

Switched on my mobile to watch a movie,
All I seem to watch is horror and suspense,
In the midst of a horrible murder scene,
The night watchman blew his whistle.

Shaken from head to toe, I cursed him,
For he may be scared of the dark,
And blows the whistle as a warning,
For the thieves to be careful!

Kavitha Patchamalai

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I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. BY ROBERT FROST