An Evening's Impressions

On an evening like this, quiet,
Soft, smooth and scarlet
hanging flabbily out of the blueprints
of a humdrum day of early summers

Dirty as I roved in the porch
watching blue herons serenading
on the green branches of the Mango tree,
the thought that clicked me first

wasn’t of yesterday’s memories,
or today’s accomplishments or
tomorrow’s clear-cut charts
or of the meadows full of green

rain-soaked grass with heaps of moss
gleaming in moonlight, or of where
the stars hide in the day

but of an ordinary world with
ordinary things.

It seemed the perfect moment to say
a good-bye to this hyperbolized world and its
gaudy lights and intemperate facades

and to return into the lanes of
a wrinkle-free world
full of geese and swans.

fairy tales slipping out of the pockets
and memories from childhood
taking form of sounds and noises,
into aimless ramblings of the dreams

and the magic-filled nights, which followed
the motion of the stars and eavesdropped

the silent whispers
that the gasping earth made
to the soft gleaming sky
of an early April.

-