Night In The Capital Poem by Samarendranath Mahapatra

The night yawns
on the overbridge
like a python in the dark,
someone is looted under the bridge
in the slum.

A few stars like lilies
twinkle in the sky,
the wind grave and silent
hovers near a lightpost:
Grasshoppers chase the wingled-ants
and lizards after the grasshoppers.

Whose blood is this
spilled on the road?

There the drunken senses
busy in cocktail
ignite fire in the bones,
shining crystal-sins
become pregnant with blood.

The night changes sides
on the fleshy bed of darkness.