Kill: a story of civilization
Neon is playing with the shadows in
the street. Chasing them, making them scattered
till dawn. Till dawn, the man hunts for his prey.
Nights have made his nails grow; now they seek blood.
The thirst of knife and violence make him
woozy. The moon, florid and drunken is
passing the sky. The hungry mice with their
fights to win the fears are wandering,
roaming, infesting alleys. Mist rises.
Till dawn a man is seeking things to kill,
even his self, soul, being. At the shaft
of first sun will make him mild, meek and calm.
Still the dawn seems to never come…
© 2008 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
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Comments: 56
for posting to our group. Cheers, Julia
Have A Great & Powerful Day W/J
such talent !
But your writings they give us light, even then.
God Bless You My Friend. No, Not Friend. God Bless You My Brother !
.
in detailing the breath of night-dark in you spelling verse !!!
Blessings and best wishes - S.
You certainly build graphic images, Poddar.
Perhaps we can join in looking forward to the dawn and rejoicing in it.
From Wikipedia:
The word lunatic is borrowed from Latin "lunaticus", which gains its stem from "luna" for moon, which denotes the traditional link made in folklore between madness and the phases of the moon.
Thanks for posting to my group, Anythingwriting
Good poem Poddar thank you for a peek into the night.
That sentence is downright scary, Poddar! - worthy of Poe.
Well-written, Poddar!