With the night approaching
birds back home
I hear very little noise.
Darkness encircles
makes the night intense.
could see few lights.
Bereft of life, activities
turn least, the clock ticks
It seems everlasting/
The minutest of sound
magnifies to an audible noise
making the heart race.
Thus I sit in the parlour,
counting the hours,
as the pendulum oscillates
with a strike every half an hour,
in an anticipation of dawn.
An ordeal it becomes.
Nights fold , days
open out, years roll.
I live quietly without
expression.
Meenas Poems 