Political, Social

The Lamppost

The silence embowers arthwart the 9th street
Nethering flow towards the coast
Eerily a raven, victim of deceit
Accompanied by a wild lynx at most

By the dawn; perishes the sheath
Draining the thaw, the heat
Dislodging the brilliance – across the shadowed woodland’s wreath
Ghastly whispers taunted towards the lynx’s lethargy

Fronting the aurora; the trace recedes
Timid of the glimmer – the black energies
The dark souls – ensuing the other as it leads
To no haven; terminal destiny of the synergies
The Lamppost.

The lynx clocks the veils of discord
The ivory colours and the pale skin
The brunette eyes and the ebony limbs
The pointy fangs and the pointy pins

It’s eyes speak; the dialect dark

Apprehend me! I am your rooted tragedy
“You wailed when he marooned you!”
“Your mother never loved you!”
“You are the rationale of his death!”
It is ascribed to lend tender nightmares
Your contemplation must evacuate

The raven meant to trigger the rave speculations
The intense and howling lush
The profligate inclination, the cupid mania
It will curb it all into its fate
Your fancies must all evacuate

The ‘leading’ light changes into ‘blinding’
Such defile aura; such polluted instincts
Yet – yet it preaches something

Not an abundance passed by during the night fall
Petrified of their own foul ambiance
They know the Lamppost probates
Personality and not trivials
It tests virtues and not wealth.

About Atharva Pote

"For a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention." #poet
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