With everybody often so late
I am on a war path with loneliness
Been booed deaf by the lazy wail of curtains
And the chime of wall clock in recent days
Today I shy away from the beating
A gracious relief, with a light heart, eye carts me
Out of the eye of the house, a mean aperture at first
Till the image of red sore light zaps on my retina, a lone star
On a dome shaped hill where the telecoms planted it.
Close by, a homeless bat flaps wings in the
Gathering dusk to convert it to a dark night
The lone star on the mast, now must contact those late
Categories:
telecoms, africa, animal, beauty, bird,
Form: Verse