iNCOMPLETe!

the easterly winds bring unease into the village..
turning the place into a ghost town after the hour of nine..
the residents of each house huddle in one room..
at the coming of terrors first sign..

faceless bandits move freely through the unkempt streets..
using every ounce that they possess of stealth..
stealing from both the rich and the poor..
bit by bit acquiring more wealth..

This is a poem that I started while I was on vacation, for want of a better word, in India, and there were a band of thiefs who used to rob houses at night in my village..
I started it ages ago, but I still havn't completed it.. Ah well..! :p