Silence rustle like a disturbed serpent.
Makes one wonder,
Where is it’s poison hidden?
I go an extra mile as Jesus implored
To be bitten.
I meditate and have visions of pure sound.
To be dead is good
when winter comes
inside a warm coffin.
Ice does not resist ice.
The fish longs to return to the ocean
Where nobody existed
Least of all ,you.
Wish you did not find your hands idle.
Very little light is left to me.
I must be frugal.
I must learn to be small
An invisible flame that burns nobody
There was no trace of memory.
We hung there like old coats on the stands.
Silent and unmoving.
Somebody stood up to leave.
And mother briefly came to life to say
“Give him something to eat.
It is very dark and desolate outside.
Didn’t u hear the winds howl?”
Silence did not heal anything.
As if being dead for sometime will restore life.
People came to look at me and to pronounce me dead.
They called and worried.
Meanwhile I learned to talk to my daughter.
And found she had small words to explain big things and
Pencils of light to cure my filthy darkness.
The flowers had a small menace.
They thought the sun is not going to come over the mountains.
It came however, reluctantly
Giving it’s light like Pharisees.
Not looking back at the exultant flowers
It went back hurriedly.
But now it feels like a room
With my favorite chairs removed.
In every relationship a sunset is there.
Come evening, we have lighted our candles.
And said our prayers.
Quiet is the river that once roared like a lion.
Night it is .