terrible silences speak to me,
terribly pale silences, soft as the faces of new pigeons.
under the arch of an upturned sky
the rain collecting (wet-feathered coin-glitter) in endless gutters.
slow aggregate of things
that shine, that refuse to shine.
breaths suspended, the crossed arms of branches
suddenly deprived of clothing -
the nude earth
aching like a young bride.
stripped & open, foot & soil
indistinguishable from mind - this downpour relentless
as the clatter of abandoned weapons. knife-quick,
bird-voices that hide & reveal themselves.
sleight of hand, or maybe the shifting of a veil,
an in-drawn breath, a touch withdrawn.
terrible silences. across the chasms of nearness,
between blades of grass, agonizingly thin
as the voices of infants, all-encompassing as dusk,
merciless as dawn.
© 2009 by Pooja Mittal.
One of the poems in my new book, which has been submitted in manuscript form to several Australian publishers. Wish me luck!
All the best!
This is a lovely poem.