LOVE IN CACTUS LAND
-
Amit Pandey
The night is mildly cold, winter in the
threshold.
The warm wind of the former disappeared, and
nothing to hold.
The clock is tired; time is sleeping.
Eyes are closed, drops of water dripping.
She breathes a soothing air, I a toxic.
The gaze is happy with others’ eyes-these are
hectic.
Nightingale is accursed tonight, losing the
melody.
Boons are physic to the lover’s malady.
Selfies are collage now, fragmenting the
crews.
Picasso is dying today; the colors lose hues.
The cradle is empty now; someone is in the
tomb.
Things are falling apart; before in the womb.
Tender hands and her loving touch crawling
towards separation.
Memories and feelings are dying together of
no operation.
The night is quite cold,
Winter is differently bold.
Lips are close together; warmth is lost.
The sky is not starry; how to boast?
The harshness of tranquility defames the
night.
He suffers the delicacy invisible in the
light.
Gloomy, the streets busy the walls.
Unhappy, the lampposts and darkness dull.
The furrows in the middle and the fields are
aging.
Sea tides got embarrassed, the dwellers
retreating.
****