I stare at the alarm
A few minutes before 4am
Waiting for it to ring.
I wait so that I can press the button
after its declaration and do my bit
in perpetrating muted agonies-
of journeys reduced to nothing.
The stories, memories and experiences of a lifetime
embodied in a body gone cold.
Of morals and advices gone into
rigor mortis; of histories meaning nothing
but chronicles in the end. Identities to be remembered
by one single photograph capturing a rare smile
Just like the single strand of hair
By the bedside
which is all that remains of that night.