Sonnet On An 'evening Cry' Poem by Indranil Bit

Evening is a stage to some, their act in life's melodrama,
Evening is a rush to some, a thoughtful rat! rat! rattle race,
Evening veils a curse to some, dark clouds of melancholy,
Evening appears lazy to some, chit chatting old! old! stories,
Evening whirls in to all, shy not for bubbling up memoirs dear!
Evening presents good or ugly! truth or lies! Served bare or lovely!

Bly me a painter, imagine a marooned street, fallen leaves dispersed!
Bly a flickering lamp or two, a gentle breeze, a distinct sound of cry!

No! Not another story that depicts a cry for a loss, a warfare brings in;
And not another lore that upheld a cry for the sake of justice and honor!
Definitely not a ghostly cry to scare a child, from his grandma's story books!
Surely not a cry from break of a lover's heart! Cry that is only felt; never heard!
How often do you cry that knows not, that needs not to wrap an elucidation! Why!
Bly a painter, live an evening in a painting, hear a cry, leave all reasons in exclamation.