Skip to content
- If it were not for the incessant
- hooting of an owl
- would this night survive
- the shivers in its bark?
- The narrow song that breaks a branch
- leans closer to the ground
- of beliefs tearing up another
- moon crescent-ing to life.
- If it were not for the howl of
- a wolf baying into hearts
- that desire just the amber
- of coals dipped in fire-sighs?
- The heights of a crescendo
- culminating into the rustle
- of leaves buries all the
- breeze that have never learnt to sleep.
- If it were not for the gush of
- a stream lining the arteries
- of ancient rocks. Could a pebble
- release itself from the crevices of cries?
- – Dipalle Parmar
