CONFIRMED DRUNKARD

POEM

My wife is normal.

And I am a bit abnormal.

Being abnormal is sort of madness.

Yes, normal and abnormal

coincide in our

relationship barring a few instances.

Sometimes my friends

organize a party

despite my reluctance

fearing my wife

since she is allergic to liquors

and detests me taking liquors.

Occasionally in a

fit of inebriation

late into the night

skipping her supper

she awaits me and  

throws tantrums

beating her chest

and two rivers of tears

flowing down her face.

Even the sleeping

neighbours wake up and come out

and ring the calling bell

which forces me to open the door

who play the role of mediators

and try to pacify my wife

which is an ardous task

and go back to their flats.

Such nights are troublesome nights,

disturbing nights 

since she weeps silently

non-stop until  she lapses into slumber.

The days on which

I, along with my friends celebrate  

and reach the flat drunk after midnight

grinning and thinking about her

throwing tantrums

and awakening the

our friends of neighbouring flats

to attempt a ceasefire and succeed

in their venture

I tell myself :

‘she is like a confirmed drunkard’.