Jul/Aug 2004 Poetry

Song In A Country With No Name

by Aishwarya

Song In A Country With No Name

The empty street spins,
and bubbles widen
in the haze of moonlight.
A tumescent pain
glistens on the tongue,
wants to sing,
but there is no voice.

Lean fingers dissolve the heat.
The musk of a coming sleep
hangs in curtains behind your eyes,
softly kneading this rock of night.

Rise, rise, like a midnight dream
when a new sky is built
out of white stones and flint,
and purple fields are sinking
in your throat.

Now sing with this silence
lying along glass panes
of open windows.
And with night, find
open eyelids
strewn like yellow flowers
over the street.


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