I hear a loud call from the brown hills and beyond
That grey clouds
That tower and cover the green of a land
That sings a melody of diminution.
I hear a shrill snivel from the river
With its slim lyre sings
With the memory of its flux
With tide, fish and desire.
I hear a faint call from the tree
Which bares its heart
Which once shared the splendor of summer
Which saw the feather-soft flowers.
I hear a crusty rumble from the land
With people who forgot to dance
With wind and
Now I listen and listen for a moist noise
Darting from the canyons of long frozen hush
To reach me
To wake me
To make me
Dream…
~Sandeep Menon
Thrissur, India