Diptesh Augustine Sarkar

A Hack At Sun-Down - Poem by Diptesh Augustine Sarkar

A friend of mine is in love
the same usual story:
bright T-shirts and jeans
and sun on the face.
I too lit up for a moment
as grass in autumn
unstoppable at quaffs of Rum
thrown secretly at sundown.

Sun-down is my property even
the woods are incensed
from neighbouring households.
Their worship bells' eager trill
would smoke the laughters
out of the holes of ageless trees
to head for a gravestone
to be touched by its curse.

Laughters become bats
blind, toothless
and shorn of desire.
They flap about
like little rag-pickers
for whom the eyes are tongue.

Rum's on the high
the bats make for home
to their respective holes
with the crimson sky on their backs
as sealing wax.
Soon the smug fingers would churn up
and throw up
on the keypad.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Poem Edited: Wednesday, April 4, 2012

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