For the love of metaphors

Mornings are always like that

In a rush, they slip away.

But

You can chase dusk, behind the day.

 

Some things never happen. But at sunset,

birds fly back, the horizon’s hued

The day’s toil is at last reviewed,

The sun sinks over, hours pass,

They bid an easy farewell

To the ephemeral daylight that never lasts.

Locks are locked,

All scarecrows docked,

Streetlights shine, crowds stop crashing

All deadly engines stop their smashing.

 

The silent voice of nocturnal calls.

to the night that lies ahead,

inevitable dues are to be paid

when the blind of darkness falls.

In wont hurry, the sky crawls,

It can’t be seen how the dark sprawls.

Painted are the clouds marooned

To their chromes, our seasons tuned.

 

You can even

mourn for the dawn,

Wait awhile for the golden sun;

Or till the daybreak you can doodle, dawdle

Stumble around and fall in a puddle,

Stand uptight, laugh back at the mud

And laugh again that there must be god.

Without meaning anything,

You could just laugh with genuine humor.

 

It can be just like that.

You can fill your jar with pebbles.

You don’t need reasons for that.

If reasons are that you must seek,

Forget your eyes, and inside you peek

Imagine how a blind man scribbles.

 

You don’t need visions for that.

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