Friday, October 15, 2010


I must be carrying in me the silence
Of the forests
My forefathers have lived off
Tended their cattle by
Keeping an eye out
For the striped man-eater
Too old or injured to hunt its natural prey.
I must have a memory somewhere
Of the fragrance of flowers
No hand has plucked
No woman has worn
No deity has been offered
I must know the calls of strange animals
And songs of birds no more seen
And may even have died.
I may have once sat entranced
Under a tree
Listening to the flute
That only a god could have played.

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