The Last Poetry Of This Year

Late-night poetry is a bliss,

Maybe it's simple, maybe it is not.

Sometimes it's complicated

Like you or like me

Knotted with feelings,

Like the roots of a huge tree.

Sometimes it hurts,

It's hard to explain what I want.

Sometimes it's tangled,

Like the silky locks of your beloved.

While you are busy,

With your loved, dear ones

Enjoying, celebrating the new.

I am busy rewinding the old ones.

Don't know, if you can

Rewind all the year

That's passed. Keeping all the tears and the joy,

In a diary, bidding the old days goodbye,

Welcoming the new year.

Everyone is busy doing parties, picnics and feasts.

But I am enjoying my serenity, with pen and paper.

And all the feelings unexpressed or prevailed,

That's my thirty-first night of this year.

Me, all of your gift joy and tears,

And all of what's left in this year.