A Perfect End

 

Three friends
New year’s eve
And a dangerous game
Yes, you heard it right
They are about to swap
Their life partners
For a night
Simply, Just a night’
As they said
Seemed that easy
To the fools
Was it really that easy?

The truth of that night
Dawned upon them
But only after
Their lives turned a mess
The same mess
As they made of love
Is it a surprise
That love avoids them, NOW
The so-called
‘Just a night’
Was the night enough
To ruin their entire life
Someone tells me
One of the friends
Was murdered
One of them imprisoned

And the one who survived
Was smart enough
To fully understand the game
He went to the room
Where his wife was
Waiting for him
Every end has a beginning
How true!
How stupid we are
That sometimes we fail to understand

The beginning of an end

 

——–The End——–

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About neetuwali

Hi! I am Neetu. Who am I? This question is very difficult to answer. Well! If you insist, let me reveal. I am a human and like every other human I eat, sleep, drink, dance, sing, laugh, smile, cry and so on. Hang on! There is a difference. Unlike most of the human beings, I breathe and when I breathe, I relax. When I am relaxed, I draw. I draw sketches of me in words. I have been orbiting around sun for forty years now. I started this journey on the Valentine day of 1974. I have seen people craving for heaven and I was born in the only heaven on earth (Kashmir). My Grandfather was a spiritual personality and a renowned poet of his time. Though he left me around 35 years ago, I couldn’t let him go. I carry him in my eyes and mind and will do that till the end of my life. I hate words, yet I am full of words. I know words cannot express, yet I express me through words, because they are the only medium I am familiar with. That is why I try to express me as much as possible with as minimum words as possible. When I did Masters in business administration, I never knew, writing will be the only business in my life. More than hobby writing is a necessity for me, because it helps me get the load of thoughts off my head. I don’t remember when it that I wrote my first poem was. But I surely know the time of my last poem. Surely,not before my last breath.

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