Often, as I wait for the silent night
to engulf my existence at hours past
the decency of a diurnal living,
instead of the yearned silence, I can hear
the night stripping itself bare for my soul
down to the glow of its dark hide and limbs.
Always like a soft whisper it begins,
like footsteps of an azure wind over
the plains of green beneath the yellow sun,
too faint to be heard by an elephant,
being devoured by its ever growing thirst
or a dog, biting down hard on its prey!
I still can only hear it through my skin
almost like a feeling, a fancy thought
that has vexed a goosebump from its dreams!
Soon, it’s like a rustle over the leaves,
as green and young as any human child
and over the gay flowers too waiting,
just like the newly wedded, so bright and wild –
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