Bais by Night

Poetry by | June 1, 2014

Every night, in this city,
my peripatetic eyes seek
phantoms on ceilings,
where darkness gazes
upon my trembling body.
After the clock strikes
twelve, the moon is pale
from loss of blood.
The dogs begin to howl.
There are no clattering footsteps
nor human voices, only
the whispering wind speaks
of cyanide and tears:
for the night here in Bais
is an ocean that drowns
rainbows and luxury ships.
For the night here in Bais
is a gathering of poets
who wail before streetlights
and broken bottles of beer—
I lay
by sugar canes
and decrepit ancestral houses.
Here in Bais,
night is longer
than day because
the sun hides
in shame.

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