Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night – Edgar Allan Poe
I am a night of a street,
Where desolate roads echo,
Just with my voice.
The silence wraps me,
In the folds of unknown shadows.
Some painful weeping sounds of,
A hapless wife from afar call me.
It appears like the wail,
Of the entire humanity.
A cat on the prowl glances,
At me as her food.
The jingling of coins draw me nearer,
Oh these poor apostles of god!
They beg the whole day!
For others and then are,
Thrown into the swamp of crimes.
Each night they fall,
In slumber in my arms,
While their dim lamps stare,
At nearby muddy pools.
No one knows about,
Their fate in next morning,
The shriek of winds drenches
Me with the rain of their sorrow.
I can’t forget the tale of night queens!
Who rule every street,
And make each night alive.
Passers-by leer at their body forms,
And stars above smile,
Falsely hanging in over-scented air.
I have not heard their shrieks,
Behind those unwashed curtains
Of silks and tattered laces.
Wish I could peep into emptiness,
Of their glittery facades.
And untangle their cobwebs,
Of treachery and despair.1 comment