Monday, October 10, 2016

Poetry: Nightfall

Out in the day,
hustling for survival
in the crucible of midday sun:

down in my underpant always, I
am a mess of hot running sweat
wistfully moaning: burning,
wearing a long long face 
like a stretched metal wire
desperate for relief.

eagerly I looked forward
to the coming of night for succour 
as real men do overwhelmed 
by passion and pain atimes
yet joyous in anticipation
of coming home to their sweethearts.

wrapped in soft ever arms of night I 
dissolved numbsall in her deep devout massage
like a wounded kitten in the care of a skilled vet.
As mothers do too effortlessly and happily to their babes
squirm-wailing in wordless call to felt discomforts
till are calm and wile away to healthy slumber.
Can anything compare to the love 
and care of mothers; My mother.?

Night perhaps more a mother,
a lover, and  friend  faithfully combined
for all with blood running in their veins
and burn same daily ascending and descending 
the height of endeavours. Nursing equally both
kings and the commoners alike in its quiet 
sweeping hospitable ambience to new life 

But who's more doubly blessed 
or call it lucky, if your like,
as those with lawfully sweet and loving halves?
as children with caring mothers?
the ailings with able physicians?
the tired and weary with anodyne?
for they are tucked safely
among helpful members
Free to turn for ther healing touches
of humans,
medicine,
and the night,
or all at a GO.
  



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