It was just a dainty night

In its blazing bosom senses

I trudged and turned back

A casual brush

On tracing the washed away innocence

The only car that honked on the streets

The only ruffian who howled and wandered

His words echoed the repressed prances and tamed thrills

Toed the edges of cliched and feared axioms

His song has little audience

It was lousy banal affair with nocturnal naivety

His bottle a muse for narcissm and the dog's eyes a symbol of self-glory

No mighty repulses,no signs of kins

Just loose hanging remorses

Like a salient criminal

He squats and conforms to called for agonies

A wrap,A shadow

He has a sense of waning conspiciousness

In the bottle the bubble holds truth

Waits for nod of none

Neither the pragmatic nor the ascetic

Neither the prudent nor the opulent

nether the cynic nor iconic

Neither myself nor himself

Every night and before dawn a life is murdered

A life whose later births remain incognito.