From the Terrace


from the terrace—
watching the rice plants
sway in the spring breeze

morning sun slants and spreads out
the wilderness rise up to me
tall upon the terrace
surrounded by the slovenly lowlands

in the distant highways
vehicles, like tin shacks, drift by
along the huddled houses
I hear a screech of hunger
on a transistor radio

I am of one mind
like the broken tree
in the middle of the rice fields

a black raven sits on the tree
then whirls in the spring breeze
soars up in the sky
and settles on the back of my mind

my eyes swam with vague terror
I hear incoherent scraps of talk
& see brief movements of hands
like the nervous raven’s wings

atop the wrought iron railing I stand
a vortex of thoughts sneers at me
like yesterday’s old, stinking clothes
I cast off my past, inhale the present air
and make the fatal plunge into the pool of future.

Twitter @bibek_writes


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