after the lasses have retired for the night and after the village rascals have gone too you can hear the sounds of silence ebbing
after the shimmering silvery moon has risen and after the shy stars have twinkled their best you can seeΒ Β articulate shapes dance the night away
after the village dogs have stopped their yelping and after the hyenas have begun their mirthless laughs you can feel the fingers of fear clutch at your timid heart
after the moonlight reveries have receded everywhere and after all the good people of this world have shut their doors you can be silent witnesses to a dance of the shadows
after the morning star has begun to beckon from its perch and after some of the dancing shapes have thinned out there's a place in your heart where the memories never fade
this empty arena where the maestros showed their mettle and these hollow hills that echoed their rustic music are all that's left after the silhouettes dissipate and are gone
in stupefied wonder i ask: is life but a walking, dancing mist and the sightless but visioned shadows leer at me in sordid glee they say life has always been this heaving and howling