A Jarful of Silence
They say in test match cricket
a batsman must show the new ball respect.
So I say to myself - Hang in there. Poker faced.
Try silence. Prolonged silence. Heavy maddening silence.
Every beginning has a shape. There’s always
a jar of perfect size if you care to look hard enough.
I grew up in a home that resembled a dome
before giving away to the rust of time.
Now all I’ve is a flotsam of debris.
An oval splayed open. The smell of boiled eggs
Orphaned onion skin. Hunt for an old knife.
A paper cut. A bandage refusing to stick.
Another page in the pink books of loss.
It’s the ritual of nice things to turn to moss.
Who knows what gets chewed, what gets swallowed.
Even the eagles flying with pride are swallowing
twilight with sorrow. Somewhere a stork is
reminiscing the first night of migration.
There are moments of madness enclosed in alphabets &
pebbles. Every threshold is Nature saying Aww.
I get a fringe cut & lie low if there is a storm outside.
They say fear turns to an earthy sort of fun
if you stay long enough to escape the run.
Satya Dash's recent poems have been published or are forthcoming in Passages North, Cosmonauts Avenue, The Florida Review, Pidgeonholes, and Glass Poetry, amongst others. He spent his early years in Odisha, India and has a degree in electronics from BITS Goa. Now he lives in Bangalore and recites his poetry in the city's cafes. He tweets at @satya043.