My river rests, soundless; no winds blow
Darkness, a distant din, wave-twinkling bulbs –
Those bulbs, the stars and the distant glow
Of city lights, orange-red over silver-black sands.
Black is the colour of darkness, that they say.
Black is the colour, definitely, it’s quite true.
Black is the colour of darkness, night and day.
Yes, it’s black, but black of un-fixed hue.
Some are the days on which the river flows
Under the moonless sky, the black of tar.
Some are the days that see the black with blue.
Such is the colour of nights while young moon glows.
Some are the nights of light – lamps near and far,
Lit on endless steps, on the river too.