NIGHT


Night 
Is a brooding dog
waiting to plunge at my throat
A dead river
my thoughts as dead fishes floats by
A tornado
my voice drown in it
Is empty
still flows over
Is cruel
yet loving
Like the butcher who pats the cow
and slits its throat neatly

Deceptive in its calm
And unforgivingly true. 

2 comments:

Jinju said...

Brilliant visual imagery...good work...well done comrade!

Jinju said...

m waiting for the 'museum' poem nw...make it soon pls... :)