Streets

By Adon Biju

I saw something strange,

Sways down the empty streets,

Spirit ,mist or shapeless fog.

Furnished by the gentle winds.

I saw, it never stays for long,

But melts under the dim lights ,

Turning into unblended gold.

Flakes of gold rained under the pole.

But none took treasure from the cold.

The streets drank the silence,

All windows latched by the dark

All spirits lay under the quilts ,

Numb ,their mind is made.

Soon, I saw someone crippled.

Tearing the silence on a wheelchair.

His eyes were burning yellow.

Thin ice pierced into skin,

Spilling blood in the gutters,

Veins spread the numb,

Branching inside thick flesh.

His eyes are burning red.

Grinding the dirt behind, the wheels surge.

Red beads draw the line behind.

He reached under the pole.

Flakes melted the ice needles.

Time burnt the dark, sliding the street into day.

Many saw his gilded wheelchair,

But none saw the blood.

By Adon Biju