Dusk

The dusky shadow palls the sky,

Whilst the golden ball gets dim,

The rattling carts to their home return,

Their wheels with a broken rim.

 

The farmers treading their weary way

The cattle to their sultry shed,

The potter recalls the entire day

Whilst lying in his bed.

 

The chirping birds to their nest return,

The playful kids to their way,

The eerie silence takes its toll,

Ending the noise of the day.

 

The longing eyes of young women

Waiting for her man,

While some waiting for their dear ones,

Who never came again.

 

The grave beside the chapel

Is sinking in the dark,

The hooting owl resides there,

While I hear the cry of lark.

 

Dusk, to a common man, may seem

Just the ending of the day,

But none so sharp to comprehend,

The mysteries it throws their way.

 

Dusk of a man is senility,

The age weak and fragile

His night is in his graveyard,

Where he lies down for a while.

 

The resting soul is awakened,

To see the light of another day

And again to live till dusk and night

And once again to pass away.

 

The cycle continues till one attains liberty,

Liberty from thoughts, liberty from pain,

Liberty from earthly attachments,

A liberty, to never be born again.