When everything is backstage

Last month's blackout ,you knew

this darkness incubates change,

Howls rise in the moonless sky

we become the growling lions

of the concrete jungle we built

the wind sits in the empty chair

we can hear it turning blank pages

but maybe it is writing

Unshackled hands are groping

for old,battered candles and

we hope the limp wicks

will glow in passion soon

as strangers will mate

under blushing stars.

Rusty hinges creaking,revealing

lizards dropping,cockroaches ferreting

Things grow and spread limbs

and elope to nowhere

And even though we tiptoe

who knows when we run

into the anonymous enemy

before the curtains are up

and we witness the revolution.