At the end of the tunnel,
There's always a light,
Sometimes soft, at times bright,
Soft is the flickering light of Gotham ( big place or city),
Where I had started the day at six and put
in ten hours at Gotham,
So with the smell of smoke in the air and the rumble of thunder in the distance,
My eyelids rose and fell like the bow of a boat on its moorings,
Measuring the days like a metronome set,
somewhere on the finely graduated scale
between impatience and serenity,
The coffee is the smell of Johnny's (rubbish) cigarette,
Soft is the fear, that the guarding (thoughts) are under the sally (attack) from all sides,
Soft not enough to enlighten thoughts,
At times bright, it's not just the decoration, but it's the cézanne (artistic art) that painted the bright,
A girly graphics woman, can grab a coffee with a bottle rocket in thoughts,
The brighter lights flickered, as if they were supporting it, the way that phosphorescence seems to support a nocturnal swimmer,
My brighter lights can spark a soft light of doleful court behind my lightened building.
Bright light is the collection to read the illumination of umpteenth time.
#WritcoPoemPrompt23

© Mishra Poonam