It’s silent tonight,
Contrarian to those ruddled rain nights,
Before in autumn
Last year.
The junction of my life,
The crossroads a mile in my neighbourhood,
Are still in bigotry,
The lamp lights, traffics,
Indifferent.
Wherefore then am I
In the middle of this
Alone with my coffee black aroma,
A blank day affront.
The morbid dry spell,
Spew frustration till dawn descends,
No car bridles the street, no gutsy wind pushing gossips,
I’m just a spectator of a dead night.
It was a festive week,
Perhaps everybody was still in breaks,
The masses’ mood somber, they need another good rest,
Expectation is an overused word, surprises would be speculatory.
I kept myself awake,
The whole night was restive of silence,
The ghosts do not need a flicker traffic light,
Who would need to cross the street in huddle tonight.
No rains tonight as songs for easy slumber,
Observing only the besotted traffic in
The street lamps that replaced the inglorious night moon,
Ghosts’ relative would also be staying homebound too tonight.
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