Dark Flutes (a poem)

Dark Flutes

The stone-still day comes
to an end,
Night has come
Heavy eyelids
The old, old sounds
Ages of tranquility waiting
Too many sounds around
my apartment—
It produces a noisy prayer,
At this bitter hour.
Dark flutes rise in
my head, bring back
The Dead Out side
the white moon
has emerged,
Shadows fall over it like
centurions
Perhaps I’m on the wrong side
of the Door
The side where one can hear
demon quarrel (?)


Note: written 11-6-2008/11.00 p.m. (No: 2514)