roshan - 1.2.3

The night begins quiet and slow,
People moving to and fro,
Mentally calculating, murderously conspiring.

The night unfolds, three at a time,
Consuming them, their own requiem,
An excuse to sin, an imminent death.

Inhibitions flee, desires fulfilled
Drunken joy (the next morning, killed)
Temporary brilliance, partly fulfilled.

Dangerous affection turns to lust,
"Oh, that one, I must get her, I must"
Animal instinct translating trust.

Is it freedom that they have acquired?

Are they free because what they felt, they desired?

Or is it weakness, 'cause they can't otherwise?

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Hands slide silently over the railing,
Touching occasionally.
A silent crowd throbs and moves
Surviving the onslaught of more.

With a slight limp, he boards slowly
Hands running over those
That remain. He looks around, merely
Hoping, fleeting, to and fro.

More and more of them, he thought
Measuring me with disdainful eyes.
The clothes are my only pair, and the limp
It's really not my fault.

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We walked on the dark causeway,
As the light of day fell free.

I looked and saw all my life walk beside me.

I said to her, “See the stars twinkle and burn.
I wish I could touch them.”
“Wrap up the sky in your fist,” she said,
Laying on my shoulder her beautiful head.

We walked till all was left behind,
Even our love.
Bound by something molecular, deep inside.

The causeway walked on us.

We were permanent now.