Counting Days with Fingers..

Why?
Have you had good night sleep?
Everyone’s looking forward to it
Hanging onto hope
Wonderful dream
Away from reality
Away from life
For eternity
For temporary
Listen. The bedside desk
An empty wine bottle
An empty hot chocolate glass
Trace of lips still can be found
Scattered sleeping pills
He is still
rolling in his bed
Agony. Impatience. Bad-tempered.
He wishes if he is dead
Knock his wounded head onto the wall
Blood stain, splashes.
like fallen ketchup
Fainted. Dead. With big grin
“Thank you”
Last words recorded on his facsimile.

Wouldn’t it be better, if falling asleep naturally?
“No!”
“Wait is excruciating process.”
“I rather be dead”
That war in Iraq
haunted him every night.
No matter how many showers taken.
No matter how many pills swallowed.
IT just won’t budge.
IT just won’t leave.
He fought
For a good night sleep
For every soul he has sworn to save
For every kid who dreamt of peaceful home
For the end of that war
He fought well
but unworthy,
untruthful,
wasted.
They spitted on him
Blames did he not put on others.
Dreams did he all dream of.
Fight or Fly?
A good man’s soul
can never be buried away
His vision
His color-faded vision
Black and white
Only can he see
Love, passion, cheer
Would soak him well

One good news
could keep him livelier

One sweet dream
is the only thing that kept him alive
the only hope he can hang onto.