LAMP POSTS

Standing like a prima donna,

On the stage of reclusion-

The beam of man-made brilliance
Howls in almost isolation.

Thickets providing shelter,
To stray society-hounds-
Turn golden in the gleam,
And charming paucities of sound.

At day, there is no stage to see,
The beam stands in tiny dignity;
A station for feathered daredevils,
A thrill to share in solidarity.

None sees the moon's disloyalty,
When stars twinkle alone at night.
Nor do they see the constancy,
Of lonesome lamp posts, each twilight.

-Karan Ghosh