Nocturne #2

Vahni Capildeo

 

I am

so tired and full of tears,

said the threadbare cloth of gold.

Beaten hands, beaters’ hands

rock the monsoon-baby’s crib.

 

I am

so wakeful and full of fears,

said the fountain in the square.

Visitors, thirsty, put

chapstick lips to dirty pipes.

 

I am

so mended and full of cracks,

said the walkway to the house;

so careful, so old, so planned

to give support. Say no more.

 

 

Nocturne #3

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