A writer immersed in writing…trying to write a song,

The song that would summarize his life – all good days and days that went wrong.

The song, that would also be an ode, to numerous nights like this one,

When the writer tried to write, random rhymes filled with pun.


Mocking oneself at writing, and life in general that was,

And losing oneself in one’s own thoughts – moments of bliss-filled pause.

The last song, a writer writes, his last attempt to be good,

His finest attempt to be creative, rhyming on, perhaps…as best as he could.


The last song of the night,

A writer’s attempt to set things right,

In fiction perhaps, write a reality new,

And sing it thereafter, in synchronous words few,

Set a new rhythm, to groove on,

Singing ahead till dawn,

That’s how this song went by,

A twisted tune, to the beats of which… time will fly,

In faded time, memories too will fade,

To a tattered past, a goodbye the writer will bade,

His is an attempt to set things right…

As the writer writes.. the last song of the night.