The night steals in,
and sleep embezzles our time
by giving us foolish dreams ,
in exchange for half our lives.
Ere midnight comes ,
the robber strikes ,
timeliness would call him ,
''midnight-robber'' ,
but he also steals from us at midday.
His coat embelished ,
with the sharp, blood trimmed flower ,
and the crimson dying sun ,
like metaphors for our present and future ,
blood upon blood .
He carries a silver dagger ,
and a blind club ,
but needs only his tongue,
and our stupidity .
The promise he makes ,
is of a vision,
of a golden future,
of prosperity ,
but he takes our ebony,
and builds himself a palace ,
in our garden.
by J. bhagan
