The closed eye is a part of everything

It is in the sky and the sea

It is in the dreams of children at night

It is all that there is forever

On my own

I don’t even know

Any colours anymore

At The Match

Above the filling clusters of people,

fluttered moths and insects of night

in the revealing rays of stadium light,

who care not for the flight of beetles

when echoed growls follow the rite

and crackles of colored light,

while monsoon brought no evils

only drizzle colored grey against night.