Nights are never gentle

when the full moon sheds its skin.

Beneath the golden screen

throbs the ancient pain

and shreds the night's myths.

In the medley of stars

the night birds cry, a haunting song,

a piercing note will fall on earth

in a stream of light.

Once in a while a paroxysm of weeping

seizes the wind and its whistle stops. The forest begins to walk

in step with the moon with a pacifying insistence.

The forest on one such night drops the robes of summer dew.

The night is fearfully dark despite the white light of the moon.

Sushama Karnik.

English Literature

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"Do not go gentle into that good night"

By Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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