This boat tied to the pier, finally
alone, nods to sleep in the coming
tide. Another boat, across the bank,
asks a question through caresses,
ripples, it’s only language
dream, it’s only medium.
The hands of the clock slowly
crawl from their jail, look back
at the milky eye. (Already a car
is crashing. Already a song is
melting. Already the sun is deified.)
The trees, forever balanced on
a single leg try to follow the human
language. For years they’ve been
picking up words. Eavesdroppers,
they are a repertoire of secrets —
of life’s most surreal lore.
SWATI SUR is a student of English literature at the University of Calcutta. She takes an interest in gender studies and postcolonial literature. You can follow more of her writing at swatisurblog.wordpress.com.