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Cooler is growing the night!
The faint sound of mills echoes at intervals,
From a source unknown!
The distant whistle of an engine
Stabs the tranquility,
Somewhere the swarms of mosquitoes
Spin the queer buzzing din,
Sometimes come out the rats
And run a competitive race,
The clock strikes the hours!
The world to a stop has come
And static, inert, dull and calm,
And senseless lie the souls who
Breathe unawares in state unconscious!

The porters, the watchmen and the workers
All are under the spell of sleep —
As if a woman casts her spells
And beckons to her lord for a close clasp
Of body and soul
For a calm and complete merger
Of identities in state relaxed!
Waking from the dream
One laughs on oneself!
Wondering at the irony of repeated errors!

Boundless is the dreamland
And matchless the whole funny affair.
But tangible truth is night
Growing calmer and cooler,
The wind drenched in moonlight
Constantly blows humid and heavy,
Dew is in the making above
To make the night frosty!

Oh Dear! Only the morn,
Would lift the silken veil
From the charming face of a bride-nature!


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