Twilight, that time between sunset and nightfall
When Orange, nay Red, is the colour of the sky,
When the heat of the day and the searing sun
Leave no doubt why there is the night, Why?

When the flock of birds fly around in search of a home
A place to rest, a bed, for them to lay their head,
A branch, a nest for these flyers so pretty
Till sunrise awakens them from the land of the,
Seemingly, dead.

When the hectic world looks for fun and frolic
Before, they find what they value most,
No, not sleep, but the tranquility that eludes them
As of their hubris and avarice, the shards they reap.

‘Tis also the measure of the passage of time
The slipping away of countless years,
Moments of pathos, memories and bygones
Fading hope and little desire, wrapped in unknown fears.

As twilight descends into the arms of night
Wrapped in darkness all the way,
It’s curtains for the drama of life
As, at the end of a Shakespearian play

(Ashok Sawhny is a prolific poet who has over 45 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06.poems@gmail.com)

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