© Farouk Asvat
With ruptured identityAfter the mundane hours of work,
I look at the pink twilight
Through silhouettes of wintry boughs
In the duskIn the stillness
In the smoky nostalgia
The wail of the muezzin
Pervades the tranquil air
But there is nothing here to calm the mind.
Somewhere the night screams.Somewhere AKs come out of hiding.
Somewhere dilapidated queens walk the night.
Somewhere the alarmed houses are sleeping.
In the refrigerated cubicleI prepare myself for the long night
Waiting for sleep
Waiting for grenades
To burst through the window
© farouk asvat
composed: 1976 [Johannesburg, South Africa under apartheid]
The Night Screams was previously published in:
The Time Of Our Lives, (black thoughts publications, p91, 1982);The Time Of Our Lives (piquant publications, p83, 2007).
initially titled "Night".
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