Evening call

A lizard head down on the stone wall:
Watching, still.
A spider climbing up at a slow pace,
Unaware of the thrill.
Soft darkness squatting in corners shrinks the sphere
Into a suggestive feel of a narrow now-and-here.
Spiced by the perfume of jasmines and a cricket's chirping sound
A minaret's evening call lingers around belongings
And the man-made kings.
Though seeing the dramas coming soon,
The thoughtful face of the moon lends us comfort and peace,
As trying the good moments to seize.
The lizard moves in a flash:
In a wordless encounter the weaver is slashed
While working its final thread:
Another deadly surprise spun in a hunter's head.

Too awakened to sleep,
I search my mind for survivors - for dreams.