Have you ever, let your corporal eyes witness the union? The union of emerging crimson sky and the setting sun. No it's not rise of hope. It's the outset, plethora of paroxysm. It's dusk. Perhaps the sky puts up veils of curcuma. Sometimes the veil is of purple and maybe lilac. The sun never seems to be hapless while waving its last beam rather it giggles as it's time for moon to rise and shine. The layer of air, they seem to be enveloped with the cologne of lavender or the breaths of stardust. The sigh of nostalgia never fails to drag a line over some sensitive shore.
I fear this dusk.
It always loosens my mask and unearths the tessellated face,designed with the sins and crannies. The nodding heads of trees always mock with my trauma as once, chasing the grey clouds, I found fascinating. I see the birds heading towards their nest and the crave for homecoming gives birth to tsunami deep inside the skin layers. The facade wants to put a cease in equipping mesh smiles but I'm too daunted with the circumference.
Sometimes the dusk is so merciless. It brings downpour with itself. They do nothing amazing but dig up the hideous sludge of bygone. The dried leafs sing the melancholic odes. I envy them. They fall altogether, in a particular point of nature's circle. They never sigh alone. I envy them,a lot. Each pitter - patter on glass panel echoes, till midnight, haunts me in a direful manner.
With the last floating puff, or some uncouth drifting aroma, I feel numb. Maybe a feeling of dissolved in smoke, engulfs me. The nature alters its melody but all I hear is a silence. A haunting silence. The depth I can never measure. And I hallucinate that far away, some fragments of a whole dandelion is calling out my name.
From a corner of a room. Peeping through an open window, all I see, the dusk is stirring me with the portion of travesty. And in each dusk, I try hard to come out with my poetry.