Last Sunset Of The Century Poem by Prasanna Mishra

Piercing lumps of stones
Inflict bruises
His frame aches
While the carrier moves
He the lone human traveller.


Miles away the destination
The maidan
Non serious mentors
Would display
Effortlessly a plethora
Of fragile promises
of different textures
And weave
For him
A phantom apparel
And tickle
His impotent manhood
For a while.


Nursing fingers
Benign evening breeze
Stop tending bruises
The carrier stops
Driver alights
At the illicit brewery
To quench his thirst
Where one highway
Meets another.


Riot of colour
In western sky beckons
Nature is enacting
The last Sunset
Of the century;
The hue divine
He leaps towards
And stands
Erect.


Will the incubator
Of the incoming night
Devour this merchandise
Of the century
And give birth
To a man complete
To salute the rising sun
The next morning!

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