How it Could Have Been

Our lives are spent

Between “How it could have been!” days.

When you return from office,

And set the dinner table,

The “How it could have been!” day,

Rises like factory smoke,

Blackening your time with soot.

Every inch of your skin

When you scrub under the shower,

Resists the rinsing away of

“How it could have been!” sighs.

When you mutter in sleep,

And dream my illegal dreams,

Those which shoo away norms, rituals and customs

Clutching the sheets in aborted pleasures of ecstasy

And hear my ghostly murmurs

Calling out your name,

A “How it could have been!” day is born.

Snuffed out the moment you wake up next morning

Brush your teeth, shampoo your hair,

I slowly crawl away amongst the bubbles,

A frothy exit, down the drains,

March out, blowing away

The “How it could have been!” candle

For another day.