New Year

This foggy, cold midnight says,


The next sun will have rays

that will warmly gloat over wrong shades

bitingly, filthily draped around that beggared mass of flesh,

Tomorrow it just won't be mere trash!
**********

V salute the rising sun and upcoming fates,

And dump the rest as mere names and dates.

But this year on death bed (or in labour pain?) sighs,

'Dear, forgrt u those promises amidst these hasty byes!'
******