During the Night Time
As the day is folded up like
An old woman's wrapper and
The sun in it has been blinded by
The orange clouds of heaven. As
The twilight starts playing with dusts
But, fills noses with the sweet fragrance
Of flourishing petals. The night will
Crawl in like a snail does on a wall
The stars will peep out to
adorn the boring sky; crickets will be
praising thy mighty with
Their tiny tones, while frogs
Will be croaking in cursing the oppressors
The owl will perch on a dying tree; starring at
A soul dessolating a body, so that
At end of the people's sorrowful
wailing, he will hoot in mockery to
Embrace their hot dropping tears
The crow will sit on a bench
of graveyards, looking
At our undying dead walking
around the woods and hoods;
mumbling the secrecy of their deaths
The mauraders: travellers of every
nooks and crannies of the earth
while silence walks the lands.
(c) D.O Isma'eel
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