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
Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

Poem

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