Apathy

Dust has grayed the windowpane, And thoughts like ice cubes on a board remain. No rise, no fall—just flatness, calm, and void. To move... but why? A battle unemployed. No spark of passion, no despairing tear— Just emptiness. Life’s dead shroud drapes me here. Tea cools untouched. The calendar’s dust-thin trace. Apathy... All tumbles toward the grave’s embrace. Like trains that halt on tracks long dead and cold: To *want* to want—yet stand inert, untold. Day after day. The streetlamp’s drowned in haze. Dust has grayed the windowpane.