My Sleepy Village on the Millennium Eve

 

The new millennium will

take birth in a couple of hours

in the foggy dark with the stars blown out.

 

What kind of handover is this?

When we see no light,

Either in the houses or starry twinklings above.

 

The dusk today was prematurely lost in fog,

Not a single star smiled,

Starless, light-less we go into the changeover.

 

Same in the houses, blackouted,

We here in this sleepy village

lie abed in the archaic dark.

 

Surely the fog will last

for another half of the day to come,

Sunless, we will welcome the newborn triplets.

 

Millennium, century, day;

The momentous birth-time in the dark,

Electric bulbs in houses also follow nature in gloom.

 

Of course, luminosity is there somewhere,

At places some; houses privileged,

Bulbs glow, create as they stars new.

 

Lucky they are,

Take part in the natal activities,

And the partisan, crony-crazed new one arrives.

 

And we the irritating ones,

Shunned for not taking part in the celebrations

at the long anticipated moment of break in history.

 

Uncertain we are thus,

What change has for us?

The stale old dry dust or some fresh dew?

 

The night is thus cold and dark,

Great events will occur,

Our fate but hardly provides any succour.