the night grows on me stranger quieter by the count of drizzle
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nightfall rainfall and in that order clothes fall off the flesh
imagine the day when dreams are the currency we carry in our heads
compound eyes deriving data from the erratic ways of the flesh
deny the shadows but remember their faces before they fade
strong-arm the autumn night into submission
the hand that holds a blade of pale wind to the koel’s throat
this night like no other invading the premises of this frail flesh
dreams of a shadow feeding a parrot grey as the overcast autumn sky
tremors on stage my bad just ants marching
elancharan gunasekaran 