Caffeinated Thoughts

The Pakistani flag hangs forgotten from a streetlight. It looks black in the dark, the white of the crescent and star mocking the onlooker. Cars whiz by, and I am oddly warmed by the carbon monoxide in the air, this bitterly cold night.

I am shivering now, despite the overwhelming fragrance of the tuberoses trapped in the vase in my room. I would rather smell a dying cigarette’s embers.

I listen to repeatedly to this song, urged on by the happiness in the singer’s voice, to wish on a new moon that something better is coming.

The moon was red the day you died Mohtarma. It perhaps reflected your blood, or the fires that erupted all over the country. Or the rage in the eyes of many. Or the red in your flag, that was supposed to represent those that you turned your back on.

A cat sunbathes on a pavement, languidly. She licks her fur, and looks bored at the sight of hundreds of cars passing by.

I want to be that cat.