listen and the river will speak its name now say it back
walks along the river gold an old god with a cloud of smoke for a face
disturbed by the harsh morning light river crows wail and scream
camera aimed at the cloudless sky waiting for a piece of soft
the tender burn of tongue as the flatbread melts and spices erupt from the curry
empty shells marching into oblivion this cold morning
at the back of the bus in the shadow of the sun incognito i be
pompous clouds parading their curves this warm evening
i asked for coffee not morphine and that was how autumn began
this morning’s darkness heavy on the eyes
elancharan gunasekaran 