One beat, two beat, three…

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The fight had been very bad. 

There was no money left in their account. 

But now, the girlfriend was blissfully asleep. 

And he was lying on her blissful bosom. 

Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub. 

Her heart beat distinctly 

Heard in his awake soul. 

Heart calling out to heart. 

At this level, he could almost,

Hear her heart,

Counting the beats, 

One beat, two beat, three…

As if, the count was finite. Oh but it was,

He realized with a shock.  

Those beats were numbered. 

Ruthlessly constrained by an upper limit. 

He woke up with a start, wore his jacket, 

which smelled just like the bar, 

He kissed her cheeks and headed out. 

The drunk bastard had finally decided to get a job. 

By Arjun Kramadhati

This is me. As Charles Bukowski would put it - born like this, born into this. I don't like to talk about myself. I am afraid this is all you are getting now. I like to express myself through my poems, and stories and very soon another novel. I love you, my darling reader. So read on.

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