Tuesday, 2 June 2015

The long wait to receive some bad news
from the postman on a hot summer afternoon.
That knock on the wooden door will mean
the beginning of a new spell of grief.
Nothing of this would have happened ,
but  the stream  of tears that wet the eyes
with all the baggage of  exiled shadows of gloom;
they somehow conspire to break free .
All promises are void in the zone of darkness
spreading from the seat of eternal hope.
Illuminated faces of majestic magicians
can be so misleading for the starry eyed flock.
The messiah is long gone ,
in fact he was the first one who fell
to join the pantheon of fallen leaders .
Fend for yourself now , don’t expect any help
there will be no good news for you
in the sudden ring of the telephone at midnight.

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