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


Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterEmail this to someoneShare on Google+Share on TumblrShare on RedditShare on LinkedInPin on Pinterest