The Ants of this Night

 White Ants,

Grow wings,

On this night,

Inside the crevices of our momentous celebration.

As the distant drum rolls welcome the rains,

As the parched blades of grass revel in wetness,

As the widows turn out their moth eaten curtains,

Millions of white ants,
Grow wings of elation,

Dancing in million madness’s,

Towards a lesser sun,

Inadequate in its artificiality,

And towards their untimed,

Unplanned, uncorked,

Circle of Death.

-Palash

May’2013, Lumding.