hidden

behind shut eyelids

a star

        tiny speck of dust    

 brutal
grating
in the eye
abrasive
sandpaper
peering          
slyly
the ears
taut     erect sentinels
listen
for footsteps
apparitions
caught
in the act of appearing
suggest
that the game
is up
but is it

in the end my eyes did mist up

the boat lay grounded        
having keeled over              
sideways
in the sand
where once there was a river  
its proud bark
eroded
splintered
the fish and other sea animals
ending up as bones              
scattered
in the wind  
half buried in sand
glassy-eyed skeletons         
helpless
watching the river die

 I woke up in a boat that had sailed a fair distance

I opened the book waited
for the birdsong to take wing
settle on the ridge of my palm
let drop gently the snowflake
into the crevices of my hand
waited
for the bark to heal
from the blow of the axe
while the woodpecker
sighed packed up her belongings
and went away in search
of a new home
waited
for rivers to retreat
in disgust and shame
making their way back to their homes
waited
for the child
the one with her eyes closed
and hair that shone in the moonlight
to once again sing her song
waited in vain

then I shut the book

bird on a tree
shorn of the rustle
of leaves
sculpting
a stillness known
only to angels

…

Naveen Kishore, publisher Seagull Books and photographer.