“No, By This Time…”
No, by this time evening
will disappear into forests
of night, and the ghoulish
moon will stare
on my head, and the wind
smearing dust on walls, roads.
Again the rains threatening to burst
as the hills retreat in vision of the night.
I will write once again of so many yesterdays
summer houses, spent winters in rays of glowing sun,
cricket fields and that old school which had so much
to offer. But I threw them all into garbage of waste.
Only the hall echoes of movies, concerts and pony tailed girls
from the nearby school.
Somewhere crowds fasten and jostle you into
night shaking reveries of howling wilderness
and that Alsatian dog who sucked my blood
into his drooling mouth.