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.

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