The evening sun is out of sight,

And while the day felt mighty nice,

The greyness makes way

For a black night, torrential pours

And flickering candle-lights;

It’s cataclysmic attitude

Alienates me from myself.

 

The books lying on the shelf

Have all been touched and read,

I’m aware of the plots and drops;

Who’s alive and who’s dead,

So, I delve into nothingness instead.

 

Through the tiny gap

Of the closed curtain,

I see the seamless sky

Decreasing its downpour,

A little after four,

There’s absence of moonlight,

And in the dark, calmed sky,

I see a bright shooting-star

Moving without an aim,

I wonder if it’s carrying a name.