darkness comes… but drags its heels… a street light flickers into life
the parlour dresses in dark clothes… and slowly sucking out the light
turns pages grey… half-digested words fade to meet it
yet never meet it halfway… negate the need to cross that line
there should be harmony between the light and dark
my fingers grip a book… like branches gripping leaves
each limply unaware and drifting into sleep… let tenures go…
now darkness drags its heels in me… at what point did I cross the line?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem