The Pariah
Night had wept herself into a puddle, in a pothole on the street On the edge he sat panting, sniffing at the teary and smoldering retreat. The innocuous looking festival of light had always fomented with an insidious intent. It had violated the modesty of darkness. Escaping, she stumbled on the thresholds of lamps. On the window sills she left her laments. Seeking refuge in the corner of loneliness, she met him, terrified of the gratuitous generosity of the ill-bred lights. Cowering under the pyrotechnics, pelted by bursts and illuminations, hither-tither did he run witnessing the evisceration of the night. And when the daylight ended the fluorescent gloom of celebrations, night was still in the puddle, wheezing the promise of resurrection to her lonely companion.