1.
\nThis boat tied to the pier, finally
\nalone, nods to sleep in the coming
\ntide. Another boat, across the bank,
\nasks a question through caresses,
\nripples, it\u2019s only language
\ndream, it\u2019s only medium.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
2.
\nThe hands of the clock slowly
\ncrawl from their jail, look back
\nat the milky eye. (Already a car
\nis crashing. Already a song is
\nmelting. Already the sun is deified.)<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
3.
\nThe trees, forever balanced on
\na single leg try to follow the human
\nlanguage. For years they’ve been
\npicking up words. Eavesdroppers,
\nthey are a repertoire of secrets \u2014
\nof life\u2019s most surreal lore.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
SWATI SUR<\/strong> 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\u00a0swatisurblog.wordpress.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 1. 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\u2019s only language dream, it\u2019s only medium. 2. The hands of the… Continue Reading
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