There’s a daily review

At midnight

To weigh the nights lived

And why

Another sunrise

Is deserved.

There’s a follow-up review

At five-thirteen

When dawn begins

To remember the nights lived

And the mornings that

Yet breathed.

If I could translate

The blood, sweat and, tears

That went into

Another sunrise,

You’ll find the nights


Along with the


In the reels

Of scenes

In black and white

Hidden behind the colour.


We leave meetings with

A one-star review,

Another with four-point-five.

Some days,

It’s critically acclaimed,

Another, a holiday breeze.

There are shelved days,

And celebratory nights

In between

That swing on the pendulum

In between

The midnight reviews,

And those at five-thirteen.

If I could remember

Every moment

Leading up to them,

Deciding which took a frame

In the film,


The genres would change

Between the before’s and, after’s

Of the reviews.

And while you’re busy

Editing the film to match

Storyboards created

From the last review

If you took a moment of pause,

You’d hear the playlist

With notes across genres,

Evoking different emotions

Along with the frames left

In black and white.

You’ll know,

That there is much colour

In the black and white,

And many more in between

That we forget

In reviews.

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