-After “Night Hawks”, oil on canvas, 1942, by Edward Hopper-
Night that brings with itself lack of love,
hesitation on living, even fear, as escaping
and fleeing from world’s demands.
Night passing far away from others not long ago,
paraphrased by so many poets always praising,
since ancient times, beauty of mutual warmth
and human complicity.
People hidden in a furtive safety of a dull bar,
unable to come out of their shells and share
some good news, perhaps hidden desires or
love secrets, yet distrust and uncertainties.
Yet unable to reach that souls’ communion,
entire and unique humans’ purpose,
fearful to break supposed barriers,
walls and fences separating us.
Where the firmness of our ancestors, never afraid
to penetrate dangers of dark and haunted nights?
Where the joy and smiles, where the words that had spoken
their dreams and drawn their desires?
Words and desires that built the world they bequeathed us
which we are about to lose, deaf and dumb for its beauties.
Unhappy and disinterested, we will transfer to our sons
only aridity and dryness, our aloofness and our despair.
Published in Young Ravens Literary Review, issue 6, Summer 2017 issue.