Here I am,
sitting in the dark
alone next to the turtle pond.
There is no rhyme,
no reason,
and no sense
as the turtles are asleep.
I stay up late
for no purpose at all
and my mind is oft adrift;
I worry for the future
about the past
and evermore the present,
but I can't make up my mind
and the turtles are asleep.
Under muse of calls
Watching silently
Staring at the moon
It's a shadowy light
Under which they swoon
A call erupts forth
Bouncing 'cross the world
Sweeping through empty streets
Around houses does it whirl
But nobody came
It fell hard on deafened ears
Despite the endless quiet
No one ever hears
So there's the moon, see how she flies
Across the sky that night
That hollow moon, so red and seething
For none will hear her plight
A flutter of my eyes
As I lay down my head
Off goes the light
And I'm lying in bed
To sleep, to sleep
I must go at last
The time to wake
Has long since been passed
Yet I do not go
My mind's in a race
My body's on earth,
My thoughts are in space
Wond'ring my purpose
And who I'll be
A dream, a dream
Is all I see
It's the music you listen to at night that matters
Friend, there are certain sounds I love at night,
like the ongoing opera of the crickets,
the one-note sonata of an owl in a nearby tree,
or, should I be lying by the lake, the furious
but curiously calming encroachment and retreat
of the waves, or even the primal, contagious howls
of a thousand wild adolescents at Nelson Ledges,
shouting all night like lemurs,
their brains too stuffed with serotonin to sleep.
But the noises your lover makes with you
would not be welcome to my ears
were it noon in the middle of summer, let alone midnight,
then one-ten, two-thirty, three-fifteen and four.
It’s impossible to sleep when her piercing moans
nearly perforate my eardrum, so please let me know
This night is so dark
With shining stars
How my heart is dark
With small hopes
They say stars are dead
My hopes too
Even though they shine bright
Like mine do
I knew they were useless
But i mind
I never let them go
Because I can't
Never get them off away
Oh My heart
Stupid heart! Let them go
Let's never hope .
A freak of nature lies on a bed of soft snow
The air is still
The world is quiet
The sky is clear
The stars look down upon this freak of nature
A million eyes gaze kindly on this twisted form
There is no judgment in this night
It is beautiful
In the morning
There will be no trace left
No one will know this freak of nature was here at all
But for now it rests sweetly and all is right
Through the cracks in the roof
shafts of sunlight
like arrows piercing my heart.
In the beam, specks of dust turn golden.
I hear the doves' wings flapping
and the cooing of the lovers -
I remember him.
Bats hang motionless, waiting for the night -
how docile they look, like he did,
before he savoured the sweetness of my blood!
The wind has died.
Fallen leaves do not chatter.
The doves have left.
Bats are stirring in their sleep.
Night approaches-
I wait - listening for his footfalls...
In the claustrophobic cubicle
(the reason none other dare use it)
That is my exclusive toilet,
At the stroke of midnight
We engage in a silent conversation.
I sit on the seat, hardly a foot away from her.
Twisting myself awkwardly, I strain to focus.
in the dim light, her eyes twinkle
As the light of the headlamp lights her up.
I have known her ( or her ancestors) for long.
Very polite, seemingly embarrassed
Having to witness my nocturnal
Passage of the bowels, she pretends
To be busy with cleaning herself up.
Observing her through the camera
I am reminded of the many lonely nights
Did you fall asleep?
Sitting up alone
Staring at the ceiling
Soft music wafting
Moonlight sifting–
And thinking, of me?
How I would like
To stand just outside your window
To watch your dress
Fluttering in the gentle breeze!
How I would love
To see your soft curls, mischievous,
Trying to hide your face from me!
I know, they love to tease me!
Did you fall asleep
Thinking of me?
Lying beneath the ceiling fan that pummel me
With gusts of hot air that refuses to leave my room;
Sweating, half-asleep, I swap at the mosquitoes biting me.
It is midnight or so, but I wake up; my skin burns and itches.
Switching on the light and switching off the fan
I scan the room for those bloodsuckers and hit
At one or two which lie on the floor.
I have the immense satisfaction
of crushing them with my toe
Leaving a smear of my blood on the polished tiles.
Sitting on the floor cross-legged, in the nude
I watch a mosquito landing on my thigh and stick its proboscis into me.
I could imagine her stomach billowing with my blood.
In the night, listening to the sounds
Of rain drumming on the tin roof,
To the crashing cymbals
Of dried branches of the Mango tree falling,
To the shattering boom of coconut
Dropping like a cannon ball -
And the wail of the wind
And the croak of the frogs –
The patter of rain on the cemented courtyard
And to the sour, sullen silences of the night -
Looking, mind empty of thoughts, looking
At the seeping water dripping
Through the cracked tiles on the roof
And running down the wall -
At the puddle growing, moving
Slowly like a serpent across the floor -