3 AM

The stray dogs outside howl like angry politicians debating whether or not
the lights blinking at the edge of the street are of a car or a UFO.

Through swirling plumes of smoke, the research assistant pores over her papers;
two ashtrays beside her abound with restlessly stubbed half-smoked cigarette butts.

Teenage lovers, with their faces lit in the blue of mobiles, make their brittle promises
of forever, send their Goodnight texts and exchange their last kisses for the day.

There’s a power outage in my complex; the drunk neighbour belts out loud discordant
songs of heartbreak, all the while, ignoring his wife’s threats of leaving him.

My cats begin their nightly routine of wrestling and tumbling over paper cartons.
Would they become Schrödinger’s cats if I ceased to exist tomorrow? What about the clocks?

Kausik KSK  is a writer based in Hyderabad, India. He takes a keen interest in all things literature and cinema. He has work published in journals and magazines like Modern HaikuFrogpond (Haiku Society of America), The Asahi ShimbunUnder the BashoAcorn and Failed Haiku.

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