Whispers of the Night

I fell awake in the midnight,

where every whisper was too bright,

every sound had its own tint,

every silence was a calm sight.

—

The clock's screams now audible,

panicked hands circling comical,

walking miles yet reach nowhere,

caged for making time tangible.

—

The hour when the calm breaths shout,

marching in and stumbling out,

the still walls of the house speak,

as the loud mouths reach timeout.

—

Street dogs at their post to bark,

at what seems as nothing but dark,

the breeze at veranda intends,

on leaving it's invisible mark.

—

Below the street lamps reside,

timid terrified patch of light,

defeated by silhouette soldiers,

it found this small cage to confide.

—

It's eerie, haunting and malevolent,

nightmares dreadful screams violent,

the dark devouring day again,

world asleep without candescent.

—

The night narrates all tragic tales,

of how hope tries to reach but fails,

as you juxtapose moon and 'her',

grieving moon watches as she wails.

—

Still the night seems not hostile,

it smells of victim but not vile,

scared of the demons using it,

Blemishing the dark all this while.

—

It is spellbinding but spellbound,

it suffers not making a sound,

listen close where unsaid is said,

Whispers of the Night will be found.

~KSR