Gloomy Sunday

Sunday is gloomy? –

Oh! I don’t think so.

You must be driven by notoriety

To be so brimful of woe!

Sunday is gloomy! –

I certainly don’t think so ;

The day’s bright and beautiful,

Even without Antonio.

Sunday is gloomy? –

How can it be so?

White flowers, black coaches –

Naught can steep Sunday in sorrow.

Seress, Javor said Sunday’s gloomy –

It would be so much more so,

Were I to pass away abruptly,

Leaving behind darling Antonio.

Oh! Gloomy, gloomy Sunday!

You’re weirdly lethal, you know?

So many have killed themselves

Distressed by your woe.

Oh! Gloomy, gloomy Sunday!

What would the lost souls say,

Were we to celebrate Life

With prayers and candles today?

 

* This poem is inspired by the song, ‘Gloomy Sunday’, more popularly known as the Hungarian suicide song, which is notorious for causing the deaths of more than a hundred people, including its composers –  Rezso Seress and Laszlo Javor, due to its extremely morbid and depressing nature. I’ve personally listened to three different versions of this song, one of them being the Hungarian original and another being the one sung by Sarah McLachlan, besides a third by an unnamed artist; and I found the song very beautiful, though the lyrics are certainly morbid. Of course, I took the precaution of listening to it while I  was at my happiest, since I know from experience that morbid songs coupled with a morbid state of mind is the absolute recipe for disaster. So, if you’re planning to listen to the song, please do so AFTER taking the appropriate precautions. Here are the links for all three versions that I listened to (others are available on YouTube)  :

 

 

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BETWEEN JOBS

I’ve been meaning for some

Time to tell you this –

That I’m out of a job,

That I’ve been dismissed.

I don’t know why –

I don’t know what I did

To so much piss them off.

Do you think I should cry?

Why, oh, why? The days

Were merely crawling by.

I’d too much to do,

And nothing to heal

My wounded soul;

Felt nothing but pity

For my ill-used skills.

Now, at least, I can read up books,

Look for jobs, crack interviews,

Turn down the steam, learn driving,

Write down stuff or try new looks.

Life has been very boring –

I’m only thirty something;

Maybe I can try something new –

Adventure favours only a select few.

I don’t know what’s going on

Inside your head at all –

You’ve been still as a rag doll.

You’re staring at me, looking foolish,

You don’t look happy, but let me finish.

You think this is hard on you;

But, hey, it’s awkward for me too.

If you can’t bear to stay,

Feel free to walk away.

I can take care of my burden –

Just don’t come back all of a sudden;

And we can move on with our lives,

Even give each other high fives.

If we meet on the street,

Don’t beat a hasty retreat.

This phase isn’t here for ever.

So long, then, dear Hoover.

THE SHADOW

I am the shadow

That lurks around corners,

Just out of reach,

Just beyond the range

Of your sight.

In broad daylight,

Amidst a busy, faceless crowd

Catch, you might,

A momentary glimpse

Of me flitting,

In and out

Of the crowd

Like a vision in

A spring-flavored dream,

Borne away by the milieu,

Tearfully moving on.

I am your shadow,

The one that fazes you –

Sometimes you scream

And hastily beat

A confounded retreat,

When you fall into my arms

Upon turning a dark corner.

Among the multitudes of

Noisy, well-lit streets

You won’t find me;

But in the darkest hour,

Lightless and silent,

Save for the pale glow

Of my candle and the wax

Dripping into the gloom below,

When all you grab is emptiness

And you are afraid of a fall,

I keep you company.

shadow

 

A TALE OF THE TOWN

NIGHT MOVES
NIGHT MOVES

A vibrant darkness

Descends, ruffling

The rigid silence.

A siren wails somewhere,

Shattering it. Everywhere

The shadows retreat,

Creating space for

Dreams to curl in.

Pale and thin, the

Young moon crawls

Across a cobalt sky,

Behind fast-flying

Clouds that proceed

Without shedding a drop.

Some sound, probably

A mechanical hybrid,

Growls at the shaking

Silence that stands

Transfixed, staring

With glassy fearful eyes.

Suddenly it stops,

Stumbling over a hand

That presses a lever.

Through it all,

Summer, the sentinel,

Keeps vigil,

Sitting atop the darkness

On a rock outcrop.