On a random night, a wandering loner,
Enter a random cafe, by the last lane’s corner!
A writer he was once upon a time,
Off late he had lost his ability to rhyme,
He wanted to write again, perhaps a tale all new,
But for that he required words and had thoughts too few,
He ordered a coffee, black, as he pondered what to write,
Of days gone by, an eventful past, or just the description of a random night!

He choose the latter and wrote a ode to the night,
Of empty roads and a faded moonlight…
His coffee arrived steaming hot,
Ecstacy for him, for ideas he sought,
He tried different ways to create a tale,
Every concept he tried, eventually failed.

His writing was flawed, he knew it by now,
He sought an inspiration, had none, yet continued somehow.
At that moment in that cafe, his glanced turned on the window at the rear,
He visualized a scene, his reality, of his college life’s last year!

There he saw a lad, young at heart, full of life,
Living on his own terms, no worries, no strife,
He stood outside the cafe on a random night of November,
A day before his birthday, as the writer bleakly remembered.

(may be continued…..)