The Pariah

Night had wept herself

into a puddle,

in a pothole

on the street.

 

On the edge

he sat panting,

sniffing at the teary 

and smoldering retreat.

 

The innocuous looking

festival of light

had always fomented 

with an insidious intent.

 

It had violated 

the modesty of darkness.

Escaping, she stumbled 

on the thresholds of lamps.

On the window sills she 

left her laments.

 

Seeking refuge in 

the corner of loneliness,

she met him, terrified 

of the gratuitous generosity

of the ill-bred lights.

 

Cowering under the pyrotechnics,

pelted by bursts and illuminations,

hither-thither did he run

witnessing the evisceration

of the night.

 

And when the daylight

ended the fluorescent 

gloom of celebrations,

night was still in the puddle,

wheezing the promise of resurrection

to her lonely companion.