The night is middle aged,
Not young nor old,
But passing by to face the moon,
To catch the stars in warm embrace,
To watch them trace the skies,
Like little chicks that waddle fresh.

Blazing blades rain down and savage the land,
They seem to set out like roaring legions,
They terrorise the cowering dust in their purest splendour.

Now in burning brightness I see...
I too am dust...

Revelling in vapour,
Ground down in my fury,
Dead except to murmer haunting echoes,
These blades shall throw me down with rolling rust and dying dust.

Yet even for I there is a plea...
For from these down-beating rays and righteous beams,
So too rise clouds under its gaze,
And the water is poured down like blood,
And my thirst shall leave.
15.02.23