The Orbit

In the morning when the sun flash its first coysmile behind the parting curtains of a sleepy sky it rouse the world from harried slumber to the roar of monstrous machines and crawling cabs on congested streets honking,hooting,swearing and sweating At midmorning its a floating disc;a kaleidoscope of pressurized breath and hooded brows of grumbling bowel and galling juice of idle hand and furious fists of infernal fingers perpetually planted in public till of sodden spirirtin fearful breasts and mumified citizens in merciless cities In the evening a dying yolk knocking feebly on western door shorn of blistering breath and scorching strength trudging relentlessly with burdensome dreams quietly,golden head rests in western grave At night a monarch ressurects with a retinue of chandelier stars and energetic drummers on the throne of a sombre sky seething with ghosts of decayed dreams waiting impatiently for the birth of a promising dawn dejon 5.45am may,2904