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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471588" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lion of the Dusk</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The flourished crimson heaven <br>That had been mantling the meagerness <br>Of the famished world <br>Slowly escaped in seething hisses. <br>Every layer of faint illumination <br>That dissipates is refilled <br>By a jet black cloak. <br>The cicadas and the crickets <br>Seemed to enjoy the sublimation <br>And started on a <br>Strident carousal, <br>The soaring birds sang <br>Their swansong as <br>They heaved the thinning air <br>To ferry their plumage home, <br>The dog-tired grass <br>Halted from beating the blows <br>Of the southern winds, <br>The wind dragged deeper <br>From the clandestine place <br>Where it was accumulating <br>And the afternoon zephyr <br>Started to whistle <br>To call for the pouncing gales, <br>The trees stooped <br>And their eaves scooped lower. <br>The premature night extended <br>Its pliant hand holding <br>A lighted match and sets fire <br>To the slumbering <br>Sundered quasars. <br>And then it hanged a slice <br>Of a bloated disk <br>Burnished with pallid opalescence. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was something subtle <br>In the dance of the dawning eve <br>Along the halls of ambiguity <br>That is not too subtle, <br>For you can feel it in insentience. <br>It was subliminal and with ornate <br>Delicacy that could only unfurl <br>Its armadillo potency <br>To a soul with a lion's heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the pensive metamorphosis <br>Of the firmament, <br>An olive pond resting <br>On the core of the frowning<br>Life ebbs with the cloying <br>Darkness. <br>Its resilient diminutive surges <br>Swelled and rouse into <br>A silver river.<br>It roused shrilling, <br>Hastily filling <br>The drought in the hungry mouth <br>Of a vale. <br>It circumnavigated <br>And shrouded<br>The whole forest <br>And the lion could not escape<br>The lure of the briskly mirrors. <br>The clarity of its veneer <br>Resembles the piercing <br>Enamel of death's scythe <br>And the lion mused upon <br>The face of reality<br>In its hostile fangs. <br>Wrought defeats, <br>Scarred abandons, <br>Marred advances <br>Were groveling in the dark lids <br>Of two tired and deluded eyes. <br>The lion stood like a frozen rock, <br>His feet were a frozen brook. <br>Before the frozen pillars thaw, <br>The lion ran with scorching alacrity <br>Escaping the alluring slices <br>Of the starlights in the vivid reflection; <br>Running back to slumber on his den. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">His den; a cavern of profound <br>And grotesque assemble <br>Of copper yarns, metal strings, <br>And serrated attachments <br>That pulls each other <br>In a taut embrace <br>Then toppled <br>As a cloying phantasm. <br>And there were hurtling daggers <br>Nicking in his tawny skin. <br>One got him in the chest, <br>And he lowered his head. <br>His golden mane tangled up <br>In the stubbles of his face. <br>An owl hooted <br>From the distance <br>And the echoes of it <br>Hammered the punctured chest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The forest stooped lower that night <br>In a desire to haul and cradle <br>The tatterdemalion lion, <br>But the forest's arms <br>Could never reach a wandering soul.<br>The lion ceaselessly vied <br>In profanity. <br>He hunts surreptitiously <br>For chances <br>Of vindicating his golden diadem. <br>In such instances, <br>He would divulge the colossus heart <br>Made of diamonds. <br>In those instances, <br>The scars and disease <br>Would overwhelm and engulf <br>The diamond heart to shatter <br>In jagged pieces. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The forest has ears, <br>But the roars and prowls of the lion <br>Exploded in an atomic static <br>That no ears <br>Can ever realize. <br>The forest has eyes, <br>And he can see <br>The lion sprinting into <br>The expanding breadth <br>Of the pitch black <br>Holding a fire fueled <br>By a lithe ardor between <br>His latticing fangs, <br>In the semblance of <br>The waking dusk itself.<br>The forest had no tongue <br>But it had called the lion<br>Several times, <br>And the leaves pranced <br>For the wind to carry its message, <br>Brushing the laments of the lion. <br>The forest called him &quot;The Lion of the Dusk&quot;.<br>And the forest could only brood <br>In the brittleness <br>Of each sunrise, <br>That he could never speak of <br>What the lion was <br>And no one would ever find <br>The lion in his lanky, <br>Unattractive and farcical veneer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Norman+Santos">Norman Santos</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=471588" data-title="The Lion of the Dusk de Norman Santos" data-description="The flourished crimson heaven 
That had been mantling the meagerness 
Of the famished world 
Slowly escaped in seething hisses. 
Every layer of faint illumination 
That dissipates is refilled 
By a jet black cloak. 
The cicadas and the crickets 
S..."></div>
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