Far into the city nights:
Shrill crickets and howling heights,
A lone bulb cries its birth
Fearful of power cuts and load-shedding
The aches spires a flickering beam;
The meaning that abor its well-being
Drips down the corner of squint eyes
and pierce pregnant thoughts
In semantics of common grief
All friends seems similar of fate;
Those that savour trans-linguistically,
Come to see the fuse and the hanging filament
This poem’s pared-down ,Noirish overtones capture alienation in a suburban setting with precision.
Humbled by thy say dear respected Sir Louis Kasatkin!