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