A Midnight Love Song

Though it be midnight,

When Poetry beckons me, what else can I do

But rise from the pretence

The sleepy hour of the day forces me to take,

And heed the call?

Beneath the blanket of the dark silence,

The world around me lies, having put behind it

A day that was lived as it turned out to be, or not,

So it is well-rested to greet the emotions

Of yet another day

of laughter, love, pathos, pain,

Dutiful necessities, mundane gratifications,

Purposeful pathways, and soulful seconds,

Hoping that it is not much shaken

By the undulating evenness

Chiselled by the Sculptor.

I too must be lying beneath that blanket

But Poetry will not let me be.

Like a drone he hums in my ear

Cajoling and pleading passionately

Until I am forced to shake off

The loving arm of Sleep

To meet Poetry for a nocturnal tryst.

Thus, unmindful of the graceful edging of night,

Poetry and I,

One delighted, the other sleepy-eyed yet love-stricken,

Sit nestled in embrace, eyes locked in a whisper

Of sweet nothings, lips mouthing together words

Of endearing love, breathing the same breath,

Conceiving a love song.

Finally, when we are spent, Poetry lets me go

Reluctantly,

And I slide once again into the waiting arms of loving Sleep

To rest a while before rising with the unsuspicious world,

My night-song a sweet memory to carry through the day.