as the night begins after 11
i am back to where i belong
obscure lanes,
shady lamps,
blue haze settles
and then i see my 'poems'

the devil dance
the priest locks the temple
i hear the mourning of a little girl.
where are angels tonight?
in bounded books
or hallucinating a simple poem.

i think of exile, every so often
they celebrate it as homecoming
and then they feast on my words
every so often
words can be pretentious
and promises forsaken

i hear the bell
time stops, no more counting
no more poetry beyond this point
i pack my soul
Satan delivers me to hell
and all i miss is solitude.