Hues, colors and
particles of dust
seen through the
waning sunlight
and riding the edgy
back of the wind,
only dawn on you
when the day is almost done.
Rushing night writes
no ballad,
doors locked tight
to keep the
dismal night out.
For this,
you can’t do
without lightening up.
I may shut all
chapters of life,
push tomes and
scrap the script
that does not have a song
for our hero who
dies halfway through the film,
making it the biggest box office flop ever.
Just to try out
the chemistry of failure
and read the reaction of our crowd
glued to the cinema screen of life.
