Many moons whispered to her,
Fetters of caress
do cut deep.
Left with nameless waves of emotions
Numb to feel the chord of symphony.
Jolted awake by disjunctures
but the moons sing her to sleep…
Everything is fine
Whispers in her ears.
Underneath shape-shifting sand dunes
The way is hidden
or lost.
One day sound escaped
Shuttering the veiled well of silence,
The whispers stopped.
~ Rimlee Das
Jorhat, Assam