Midnight’s Dawn

The day shortens as the corridor narrows,

There is a door at the end,

Painted with light and dark.

The colour is a shimmering greyness,

It is diffused light of foggy morn,

Yet also of midnight’s dawn.


Holding On

Wet mushy autumn leaves laying by the lake.

Young puddles grow as the rain drizzles on.


A man stays sitting.


A woman starts running.


Children stay playing, jumping into the misty air.


Suddenly, the clouds empty their deluge within.

Puddles overtake pavements.


Like a circle of dominos falling, 

the water seeps into every corner of the street,

creeping up peoples paths.


The man jumps, his feet are wet.

The man shouts, his path is flood.


The woman arrives home, away from the rain,

shivering because of her damp, wet coat.

She has a bath.


Children continue to play, holding on to the hope that the rain will stop.


The rain stops.

I Stand Alone.

I step through flowers in the rain,

Standing alone.

The rain pours, a million drops of silver.

Street lamps shine on the glistening fallings,

Like eyes of orange honey dripping, spreading through the watery air.

I look up,

into the above,

into the wet pinched globes rushing down.

I stare,

An abundance of glowing powers, some are dead,

but live on in our sight,

in our light.


Reflections of raindrops in each other,

All showing the powers of the infinite nocturnal sky.


Stand, look, stare and see-


The night is alive,

The stars are awake,

To the music of the skies.


People change, or so it’s said,

An old man, who once was young.

A happy women, now sad because of her life.

Things change, look around!

A withered tree, each day it’s last.

A frozen pond, the colour of air, melting, changing.

Change moves with passing of time.

But time and change are illusions themselves.

The man, women, tree and pond are still a man, a woman,

It’s the same pond and the same tree.

The outside changes, but our core stays with us since the day we are born.