The sky scarlet with streaks, golden
like the anklets on a bride,
studded with crows, black, beautifully scattered.
their raucous calls ring in the wind
the dazzling moon is awake,
she always was.
Her silver fingers play a romantic solo,
As vespertine flowers undress their howling fragrance
The dusk, enticing,
the winding day yawns and
stretches in colours of deepened ecstasy.
The dusk waits like a canvas
to be painted upon
waits to imbibe the ink of peace and
soft whispers of cuddling lovers.
As though she draws a long breath and gently caresses homes
mud roofed or concrete
puffs at the desperate smoke from their chimneys.
The dusk calls them all together,
the winged ones and enchantingly send them home.
She plays the solo all night long, the moon
and I lay asleep in deep solitude.
by Nisha Raviprasad (India)