It is late night as I return.
The darkness is complete,
having taken over the reins
from half-hearted twilight.
Time has never been a friend;
I close the door on a day
never to come again.
The night begs me to submit ——
The empty house,
with the stale odour of a dead day
leaves no room for choice.
I stand on the threshold ——
A blank epitaph to an absent presence.
I have left time outside the door,
and there is nought to do
but await the next moment.
The darkness is complete,
having taken over the reins
from half-hearted twilight.
Time has never been a friend;
I close the door on a day
never to come again.
The night begs me to submit ——
The empty house,
with the stale odour of a dead day
leaves no room for choice.
I stand on the threshold ——
A blank epitaph to an absent presence.
I have left time outside the door,
and there is nought to do
but await the next moment.
good..it is tighter than many of your previous ones. i think you should aim towards this pithiness.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Ma. You're my best critic...
ReplyDeleteI cannot agree less. You have expressed your state of mind so aptly in barely 20 lines. And the best part about this poem is that it gives your reader the ability to imagine you right there outside your door, witnessing the same set of emotions. Good work!!!
ReplyDeleteBut, yes, come March and the monotony will soon disappear
thanks a ton, jane! very heartening... :) No comment about the last sentence though! :p
ReplyDelete