Scenes.....

the night is
a mannequin

and we are
the recent
harlequins
in the room

the night is
no longer a mystery
it is colder
and the lights are not
turned off
because of fear

dimmer
like promises

the floor is silent
like the carpets
the dusts invade
like a catacomb
ambient

the scenes outside
are horrible
dead birds hanging
themselves
on the twigs of
a fungal tree

nevertheless
a bunch of ripe guavas
wait still
to be picked by some
hands of the
boys.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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