The rain with its cosmic eyes
Keeps knocking at the windowpane
Trembling with each steps
With all her secrets in every drop, one by one.
The evening was waiting for the
Magical rituals....like secret manuscripts
For her readers. It was dark like prison cells.
Waiting in a row for the final sentence.
The room was empty with the silence
Of the graveyard, except for the legacy of my
Ancestral breath. Bit by bit.
Again, and again. Like the experienced leopards,
Before the final hunt.
Our time, Past Present and the Future aspirants,
Like the prodigal epics of beliefs
Is waiting for the last ritual.
17th August 2014
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Author:
NilavroNill (
Offline) - Published: January 27th, 2023 04:17
- Category: Sad
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: sophin
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Comments2
devoid of context, my appreciation is stunted
but still, I am naturally drawn to your wonderful lines
thanks for sharing
thanks!
"The room was empty with the silence
Of the graveyard, except for the legacy of my
Ancestral breath. Bit by bit.
Again, and again."
Beautifully haunting words, dear poet. The words are so potent, and conjure images of smoke that I have only seen in the dark. Well written.
Thank you so much.
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