On the Southeast end of Manipal
Muffling out any light
That the sky could boast at one a.m.
I wandered into an old cafe
Looking for some kind of life.
And in that antique light
I found what I was escaping from.
Falling into a tight, stiff, wooden chair.
I stared at the emptiness.
Thick oily paint,
Like the color of a shabby old newspaper,
Magnified the cracks in the wall.
The only decorations were
Three large prints of paintings
That had aged and blended
Into the colorless color of those walls.
I ordered the special of the day.
I don't remember what it was,
Only that there was a lot of it,
And I ate very little.
The whole thing was so depressing,
So very god damn depressing.
In the background
I heard slices of some unfortunate beasts flesh
searing in agony on a grill.
While glasses and dishes
Tinkled and crashed in futile protest.
I sat there for a long time.
And thought of all the thoughts
That had collected in that place
Over the past decades.
Then I walked out
And nothing had changed.
Nothing, except that it was drizzling.