Library
The Wee Hours
The Wee Hours
1 min
6.9K
It is the time
When a black star descends
On the closed eyelid of the water in the well
The train chugs down in the vicinity of the city
Even in deep sleep
Body seeks unknown warm
Birds are swinging on the barren boughs of the tree
Like un-ripened apple
Even bespectacled eyes catch sleep
But the last line of the poem escapes
Leaving the notebook blank.
A young widow, clad in white,
Begs lorry driver a lift
The driver is in deep slumber,
It is the time
When both the sun and the moon
Are lusterless
Death embraces the old and aged
A new born laughs
In the dreams of a pregnant woman….
