Christmas Eve And The Graveyard Hour Poem by abhro bhattacharjee

no crunching snow at your feet
no corniferous tree with a mounted star
no open sleigh no artic deer
it's christmas eve at the graveyad hour

the slotted maze and its empty chairs
the silicate walls have a fluroscent glow
the plasma screens all sleeping tight
yet the crunch is still there
but of the carpet floor


the washoom though as usual quiet
with its napkin swish and the hand dry hum
my cranky chair welcomes me
the solitary rapper n his beloved chum

through the glass i see orion's belt
my guardian angel, of mighty stealth
the keyboard crack my rythm and blues
the scratch of hair, more cranks a few

the coffee bar has a plugged in maid
who mourns and grines at every touch
hence no wamth exchanged
no season's greetings much

just like orion on christmas eve
i watch over the analog lines
as world over people feast
i think of the californian hustle
i drool on the tranquil alaskan chime