With The Abandoned Night

Like a vagabond with zero clue,

I’ve been walking in the dark streets at 9:00 pm,

My flip-flop inviting sands under the feet

With its constant clash with the gravels on the ground,

My face half-hidden from the passing people:

Some hooded boys, in groups

Steering forth in smokes of cigarettes

Relishing the nicotine-napped night air,

Glanced a queer questioning look

As if the clamour in me raising discomfort in their brows,

My nose pushes away the pungent entry

Staying for three seconds of three steps away;

Then I gargle agony in garbled sounds,

The last word ceasing unheard as a thin thread

At the end of vocal capacity –

The steep streets are not even mine to kneel down

Or swish some prayer under leaves brushed beneath moonlight,

Not a place to curl in solemn shelter

Lest some insects crawl on my frail soul.

Instead I walk to meet every piece of night

Blown from nebulas, whole and pristine

Styled and spread along the steps of solitude,

Spending the succeeding hours with the night

Like a friend of another abandoned being