Monday, December 6, 2010


There’s noise in naked night
That Shakespeare never heard;
Rumbling rubber on roads,
Whirling wheels on straight steels,
Shrieks from the late late show,
Buzzes, bells and muzhak,
Din from domestic discs,
Air conditioned exhaust.

Those among us who can soundly sleep
Never hear these constant crass squalls,
Ever drifting much more inwards,
Content in dozing detachment.
Others endure all the static,
Seeking to unravel meaning,
Before sliding to slack slumber
And dreams that end halfway to hope.

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