“The stars have filled the dark’ning sky with white”

The stars have filled the dark’ning sky with white
And silver sparks begin to shoot around;
The breeze shifts through the trees and sighs, at night,
For day allows it no audience, no sound.
I move at leisure on rain-kissed pathways
And wonder whether the breeze loves the trees
It whistles through; for, during lonely days,
It rests under the sun, above the seas;
At night, returns home and sings for the trees.
Sometimes I ache to see this lone affair
And weep to know there are locks, but no keys
To hearts that will not open, never tear.
And then I see the rustling leaves and know,
And then I feel the breeze which cancels my woe.

10th October

None and Every.

The air begins low and then sings high,
The birds soar skyward and then swoop by.
The sun melts yellow and mellow shines,
The light shoots through and evades the pines.

Mountains loom, snow falls and water gushes
Through crags between rocks and on rushes;
The chill is duly warmed by the beams,
Heaven on earth … or so it seems …

Concrete and tar rise upward, majestic, ugly,
A cold light of their own gleaming unceasingly,
A stoic hindrance to humanity, no doubt,
A human necessity they can’t do without.

The air lacerated with darkened soot and mindless smog,
Breezes stilled, beams dimmed, breath blocked,
Desolation crawls within as do suicidal tendencies,
Life’s utter folly, its own vagrancies.

The aimless thirst for what is not to what is,
To take from another what was never his,
Lie for no reasonable and explicable cause,
To exist, to not just live, but just because.

A child’s laughter so pure, almost divine,
Leads to beauty, joy and happiness sublime.
A man’s grown chuckle so virile, so morbid,
Resembles inborn greed and all that’s sordid.

A daughter’s anguished pain and her incessant weeping,
Her father’s grin and his forced ignorance constantly creeping.
The burst of metal and fire, the end of a living thing,
Existing billions blown from being to nothing.

Though the Mother still survives and lives on,
Though the Blessed Faith carries upon
A ruthless world, Hope remains and moves
To etch within Destiny its lovely grooves.

And the sun still shines and burns bright,
Just like the stars that burn at night.
The sand still sifts as the wind sighs,
And people still cry when love dies.

The Star.

The Sun melts in the Ocean blue
And sparks fly in the Sky,
To make it a red-purple hue,
That turns dark by and by.

The last orange dips in the water,
Which is aflame with red,
And it brings the Day to its slaughter,
As it takes Night to bed.

The Moon rises to rape the Star,
Which has wishes to give;
Dark, purple clouds smog up to mar
The Moon. They seem to drive

The Star out of harm’s reach, but, then,
As Night begins to play,
The Star within the Moon’s lighted den,
Cannot, blissfully, stay.

A dog begins to howl and bark;
Crickets cry and bats fly,
Around and around in the dark;
They know—something must die.

The clouds cover the Moon with fog
And the Star shines alone;
The Wind drowns the howling dog
With its deep baritone.

The Moon appears again to shine;
The Star trembles in fright;
The Moon seems to cry: mine, mine, mine!
And all’s quiet in the Night.

Then, suddenly, the Moon turns dark:
A red, maroon, then – black!
The Earth’s grim shadow puts its mark,
And gives the Moon its back.

Lost in power the Moon lies cold.
The Star lives on – to light
The Earth with a glory untold
And defeats the Moon’s night.