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