Midnight Monologue

The daily humdrums, 

Ignoring rhythm in monotony; 

Weaving patterns in the maze, 

Of those black eyes where night meets the sea.

Like the sound of temple bells, 

Of the rivulet, anklets, 

Like the smell of ocean, 

Smell of coffee, of perspiration, 

Summer wind, 

Song of a woodpecker, 

And rain. 

Take a single grave on the hilltop of a deserted island, 

Or a young girl collecting sea shells, Unpainted lashes, 

Illusions, and glances, 

Orange ember of coal. 

Twilight or Dawn.

Like the colour of cactus when it rains, 

Colour of void. 

The death of hibiscus on the eve of its birth, or mayflies. 

Of honeybee.

The taste of lies on the tongue, 

Or hunger pangs, blood, 

Vow. 

And Salt.

Have you noticed the vibrations in my fingerprints?

Or the horns on swans? 

Mother beating her infant when he doesn’t cry?

Fifty thousand mourners;

Vibrations when I feel.. 

A child’s smile less divine than 

An adult’s nervous breakdown. 

I think nervous breakdowns are purer. 

What do you think? 

Well, of course, I talk a lot. 

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