10/11/2014

MIDNIGHT POETRY

In the middle of darkness, when I woke up, the humanity was dead. The sound of deserted silence filled the empty night air. The street worn out by restless patters of slippers  and feet is now strewn with dust of yesteryears memories; the town that was buzz of excitement then, speak of the effigy of lost paradise; a rivulet that sang the poetry of freedom is a mute river that lost the charm of music to sing anymore; the night sky whose garments of tiny stars and silver moon spoke of inspiration gaze with insipid measure of space; the trees groomed for younger generations remain a testimony of dead habitat; the air composed of lively breath smell of lonely suffocation; And the soil, born witness to all occurrences, refuse to speak of the happening.

As elation left me, asked I to my wakeful self, “ Where was me when all these changed!”

And deep within, I knew I was embraced to my illusions and drank of the ignored wine. But also in the corner of the deeper within, I also knew that illusions were bliss but the intoxication was a curse. 

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