Dark, deep, melancholic
is the wood with the fading
of day-  the heart begins
to brood amidst the cold silence

dusk its way is negotiating
to partake in the scene
it wouldn't allow itself
not to have a say
while night furtively watches
and waits its drama to display

what are hours
what is time
within which
every life is engaged?
would it celebrate
its freedom
its love
its worth
its dignity
or in default
be caged?  

the day
is a camouflage
amidst the clamour and din
feelings are shut

the night
unleashes all secrets
it is the harshest judge

the heart
is like the wood
in that unknown place
it hides away
to remember
or forget
to recalibrate

the past
its darkest shadows
upon the lonely
and forlorn they cast
refuses to loosen
its iron grasp
and mocks
at the weakness
and vulnerability
the common mark
of humanity

the wood is deep
melancholic, dark