In the Twilight

a poem by Francis Komban

The dim light
Paving way to dusk
Then to night, pitch dark;
Gone the glow
The end of the day’s show
That cast radiance
Now only exiguous brilliance;
Soon the veil of murk
Spreads in every nook.

In the twilight
Barely bright,
In the wee hours of dawn
Of ‘seventh stage’ of man,
Life begins to tumble,
Lots and lots to fumble;
Many a thing in jeopardy,
Music of melancholic melody;
Only a gloomy, glum smile,
Sagging spirits all the while;
Gropes, yearning for a heart-to-heart
With the beloved, with all his heart.
Anguished solitude sets in,
At an end-feeling steps in
With bodily aches and ailments:
Nature’s wages! No room for laments.
Inching towards an unknown end
Sat the man still, in a predicament.