The musky night
descends slowly.
Mercury was rising
dressing the twilight.
You start eating your
nails, crossing the darkness.
I will not stop you.
The yellow dust had
settled, after you burned
down the family tree.
The icy bridge was
closed. No guest
would arrive.
The outreaching hands
were empty.
Time to shut the windows.
Moon was not going to knock at the door.
-
Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: September 6th, 2020 19:35
- Category: Nature
- Views: 29
Offline)
Comments1
wonderful image of the solitude that invades us at times, in those bleak hours of a troublesome night
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.