At The End Poem by Chandan Dey

The ghosts of disbelief
are moving in all directions
striking the walls at random
in the dark cloudy night.

The pride legs
are sinking deep
into the trap
under the trap

The trace of mischievous desire
is still waiting
for a short spell of rainfall
in some different space of thought
thirstily...

The sun is setting

it is time for the bird
come back to its nest
and
dig up the meaning of day's flight.