Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Inching


A word
Once a name
Is now a word
Again.

She has crossed aslant the name.

Smiles upon the rain and a skirt held up

Leaning as if submitting to his shoulders

Was not submitting to power itself.

She could well observe

How age turns prayers into wails.

An aged word
Desperate
To create new associations
Moving towards the dark
Where names do not drop
Anymore
On praying hands.

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