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Dusk


by published


It’s that time of the day,
Yet again-
I would walk out of the door,
Traversing past the nearby park,
Where the white roses have won attention,
From a distance,
The sky is orange, with its serene array of the diurnal,
The roads look pastoral, for I see a few heads,
Drowsily drooping, gazing at the pebbles on the grassy ground,
Trying to sketch a pattern of their non-normal obstinacy -
The toddlers no more, at the candy store,
Where a lad of four scores,
Giggles to get his mistress the last bite of the cotton candy,
I pass, and with me, my will,
My will to be alive and awake,
The same old sleep that comes
With the oath of a hideous return,
In my subconscious, they call it a dream-
The second coming of my sleep-
The oath of waking up, the oath of being alive again,
Alone, again.
It’s that time of the day, yet again.

I’m alive to love,
To buy my own heresy, to paint an old wall
With colours of my lover’s cloak
And stitches of perennial disagreements
Only to be mended with the right paddling of our hands,
When the souls no more fail to converge.