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SINGLE POETIC STORY : IF THE NIGHT COULD TALK (PART IV)

BY: Jacintha Morris | Category: Others | Submitted: 2012-07-10 09:47:38
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Article Summary: "Describing how twenty characters of people spend their night - Night as the silent witness.."


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If the night could talk,
Of the men who hold reigns,
Of nation's administration,
Rule and govern,
In high tide.
Politicians and patriots,
Master plan they frame,
Prosperity of nation,
Is their sole aim.

Thirst for nation's liberty,
Made them fast in unity.
Night matter not,
Talks flatter not,
They discuss long,
Make decisions strong.

The night is sad,
To see the bad,
Politicians of lip-service,
Words of false promise.
They reap wealth,
With no effort.
A group is formed,
As arena of support.

Festival for them throughout night,
Laughter, liquor and all they like,
Pours in plenty; what a sight.
Money is power,
Money can cover,
All that's untrue,
Vice to root.

If the night could talk,
How praiseworthy it will be,
About the loving mother,
The symbol of Earth.
She carried her offspring,
In her womb with pride,
Nurtures them, brings them up,
Whole night awake,
If the babe's health at stake.

Often the mother can't sleep,
Torment of child's wrong path,
Worries of spouse's health,
Or his unhealthy habits.
To run the family,
Make both ends meet,
She counts and recounts,
Every penny she owns.

The pain of the mother,
When spouse loathes her.
The grief of the mother,
When child isolates her.
The child never believes
That mother knows best
She forgets and forgives all,
And vows to God,
To guard her family,
From all ruffle.

If the night could talk,
How sorrowful it would be,
Of the servant or maid,
Who tends the children,
Blends the home.
To earn for her family
She treads her own.

From morn till night,
She roams; home to home,
Cooks, cares and cleans.
Yet some are ill-treated,
And blindly low paid.
Some are fortunate,
To work with mistresses
Who do care.

Many miss the tram,
If maids don't put the babes
in the pram.
Confusion crops up,
If maids don't drop in.
Often they wring in pain,
At night; due to strain.
None to soothe,
None to console,
Even the night stood mute.

Miserable is the life of maid,
Sent abroad in trade,
Mind and body of slave,
She is shackled in enclave.
The currency that flows,
By maids outsourced,
Is tainted not by mere sweat,
But of suppressed regrets.

If the night could talk,
How feeble it would be,
The emptiness of the childless women,
Loneliness in the barren women's life!
Most of the nights, they feel
With their hands,
For a life.

The barren stomach,
Which has to hold an offspring,
Empty and deserted.
Their breast to feed,
Now useless weed.
The link of wedlock,
Not yet fulfilled.
They crave for the oasis,
Baby's blabbering.
Nights are not poetic,
No! Not for them.

If the night could talk,
How legible it would be,
Of the orphans life!
Many hauled together,
With menial food for hunger.
None to fondle in care,
None to mop the forehead,
When soared in fever.

Not all are made orphans
Soon they are born.
Often they are abandoned ones.
Victims of teenager's quick pleasure,
Or the prey of some trickster.
They do not know,
Parents of their own.
Deemed as society's wretch,
Only sorrow life did fetch.

If the night could talk,
How vulnerable it would be
About the prisoners sleep,
Inside dungeons deep!
They lost count,
Of month and year,
Thought of outside world,
With stark fear.
Moonlight couldn't enter,
Nor the gentle cool breeze.
Dampness of dark rock walls,
Melted by fumes,
Of broken hearts,
Locked behind bars.

Are all prisoners evil,
Or some innocent and civil,
Are they criminals,
Of greed and lust,
Or just bait of others trust?

Some sat straight; legs stretched,
Some with folded hands,
Heaved long breath.
Some in vengeance perspired lot,
Some slept peacefully,
Not bothered at all.

If the night could talk,
How gloomy it will be,
Of the blind that live!
They stumble often,
though they clear-
with outstretched arms,
all they feel.

The blind didn't halt,
When dark night sought.
The blind didn't fear,
When night stood near.
They tread in maze,
No scene to amaze.
Day or night,
Does not differ,
Life without vision,
Utter confusion.
No mercy killing,
In darkness they trot.

If the night could talk,
How obscure will it be,
Of the call centre staff,
life in flair!
They work whole night,
To turn out freaks,
Invite premature ageing.

They drain their brain,
For huge money gain.
For these fortune seekers,
Sun only sets,
As in west.
Sleep hindered,
Normal life hampered,
They take rest,
When sun shines best.

If the night could talk,
How awful it will be,
About the egoistic men,
Who couldn't do
What others do!
They loath many,
For reasons indeed funny.

In the cover of the night,
Their tawdry minds spin,
The web of malicious spite,
Spitting profuse
Negative thoughts and energy.
They slash fangs of poison,
Oh, dreadful envious folk!

If any dame does deed of fame,
Restless these vipers are,
Here and there they run,
Plotting against; to ruin.
Talk about chastity as tool,
With scandalous words they fool.
Many a woman is victimized,
For no reasons criticized.

The night could see that,
Most women hesitant,
To serve the society,
To enhance credibility,
Fear of character assassination,
Egoistic men's fascination.
None dares to tie the bell,
Even the night could only,
Stand still.

If the night could talk,
Will it disclose the fact,
Of the spirits and ghosts,
All the souls that roam,
Unwilling to leave their homes,
Thriving to come back,
Reminiscing their past?

Do the rites and rituals give
The peace the souls do seek?
Do the food and offerings made,
Satisfy their likes and taste?
Are they really troublesome
Or otherwise grateful?
Has anyone awake seen,
The night and spirit shoulder by?
Night the only ally,
To souls who talk freely.

How did the night take
All that it had heard?
How did the night react
For all that it had seen?
What will the night do
To the emotions it had felt?
If only the night could talk,
The mysteries it could reveal.

Is the dark shade in the full moon
The mark of grief of night?
Are the heavy downpours at night
The tears the night did shed?
Are the breaks of thunderbolt
The voice of anguish raised?
Are the eerie winds strongly blown
Made to know that night did scowl?
Is the frightful lightning slashed
With the whip the night did hold?

Does the moonlit starry sky
Make us wonder
The night did smile?
Does the shooting star passing by
Make us wonder
The night lit joyous sparklers?
Is the night sometimes happy?
Oh, if only, if only
The night could talk...........!

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Comments on this article: (4 comments so far)

Comment Comment By Comment Date
nice , keep up the gr8 work maam mike joseph 2012-07-12 07:38:46 1418
Very nice poem. I really like it. Met Morgans - Author 2012-07-12 19:48:46 1422
Beautiful as always are your creations, in words or deeds... just keep going. Sunil Kumar 2012-07-14 20:27:07 1423
great Jacintha best wishes jose 2012-08-04 10:07:43 1455

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