I feel a pain, as tenderness touches me
like morning mist caressing the grass
on a faded village road in childhood,
like the soft drops of silent dew
on brown leaves soft beneath
my yearning feet.
Ears shall confound as they hear me.
Hear my voice echoing in the profundity
of repeating, convoluting confusions.
Clotted blood on my eternal scars.
Clotted on my eternal in
my burning thoughts.
I shall feel the clasps of unknown hands
on the silent silent gasps in my language,
on slender necks, on silent mouths
that have only ever tried to wail
piercing the cloudy whiff of
© 2007 Ritwik Banerjee
Ritwik Banerjee is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.