Here And Now Poem by K.S.Subramanian Subramanian

The window has little to offer;
Trees still, long expansive
meadows pensive; sky dropping
Into pale pink.

Dusk deepens its shadows over
mind, clogged with straw piles
to let a ray of light in;
Eye scanning the sunbeam's tip
for a pot of gold.

Every metropolis abuzz
with spreading software,
an indomitable fairie;
Youth, throbbing like moths,
ready to crash into the narrowing
corridor of light; Bruises matter
less than the scramble.
For a pot of gold on the sunbeam's tip.

"Here and now" is the cry
in desolate alleys;
Portals, wedged on the horns
of financiers, landlords itching
for a harvest of rent.
The market's foul, noxious breath
decimating mind;
For a pot of gold on the sunbeam's tip.

The old gawking at the corridor,
the young tetchy.
Sun's rays frozen in twilight.