Night

The day bids farewell.
Too soon, too fast.
Shivering hands,
The people pass by.
The stories heard but unregistered.
It is a cold evening.
Warming the cold hands over tea.
The tea turns colder,
And bitter.
Warmth of the day fades as the sun.
That Of the hands turning colder.
The stories of fireplaces and cozy blankets,
Long forgotten.
Rising whispers of bitter-nothings.
Hands overlapping,
Rubbing,
Running,
Responding,
Yet so cold.
The night awaits
In all its darkness,
Dullness,
Dumbness.
Echoes of silence,
Redundant,
Repetitive,
Recurring.
Smells of death,
Decay,
Dilapidation.
The night keeps waiting.