A midnight sonata

When one by one all the shops have closed along

and the night is a muslin turning blue anon

There’s a misty air that says it's getting late 

The town has gone to sleep and the stars have left 

But the dew on lips is yet so sweet and wet 

And passions heave with a force of glee and haste

And the urge to find the Shangrilla is great

the moon is a forlorn watcher at the gate 

 

Witnessed by time, oh that lonely passer-by

This revelry, nay this beauty rises high

But who wants to part away and say goodbye?

—

 Anant Dhavale