The death of a year

Photo by Matheus Frade on Unsplash

In a bid to make ourselves
heard yesterday, we have lost our
voices, today.

The silence stands in
stark contrast to the cacophony
of the previous night.

The confetti now
stamped upon, not happy
images of celebrations.

A mysterious stain
graces the couch, a darkness
unexplained by mere wine.

I opened the glass door
that held me in my air-conditioned
cage of quietude.

A hand unseen unmutes
the birds, a sweet melancholy binds me…