End of the world

At the stroke of midnight
empty beer bottles pile up.
The stench of half-eaten 

biryani and the dirty dishes 

all over the floor-

The shearing pain in
the head of the hangover
you can't handle-
Orphan written on your 

forehead as you can't 

remember your father's 

name.

She comes to mind and
the life you couldn't have,
and the unborn children
scream and you roll over
the floor and cry-

At ten past two,
you think you're gay and
try to kiss your drunken
friend beside you.
He slaps you first and
consoles you into a weird
sort of existentialism.

An hour later something
gets into him- he convinces 

you that the world is 

gonna end.

Douglas Adam detains 
your drunken souls and
takes you both to
"The restaurant at the 

edge of the galaxy."

You order masala dosa
and cutting chai, 

and write each other 

eulogies in a hurry
On tissue papers.

At the end of the world,

by nine past four, 

you understand-
All the fireworks were just

you puking heavily without
understanding why-

But that eulogies 

sounded so good, 

you really wanna die.