On a lone winter evening,
The sun dipped over the horizon,
Awaiting its blithe.
The sky thoughtful and desiderate.
The twinkling of the sky,
Will soon fly.
Heaven is propounded,
Human mind is disrupted.
The unsteady murmur of insects,
The shrill voices of people.
Exonerates the cold, fog sunken air.
The evening walls down along the harbour.
The moon mightier than ever,
Lusting it's magical glow.
On Fantasies and realities of the time.
Hereby the night flows,
From the courtyards of the rich,
To the rags of the of the woebgoene,
And the brok
Shall rise.
And rise, And rise,
And rise again,
On that lone winter evening.
-Arunav Hazarika