Poem By Prathibha Nandakumar
I was split open when he walked in through the
glass door wearing a grin that could say
he had got the cream after all.
The meeting had to happen at that specific
moment of silence, which is my language and
he comes to me with his.
The silent one is easy to understand
His language is preserved in words with out roots
with out the beginning or end
His thoughts rest like birds on
my line where desires hang, fastened with clips.
No wind can fly them away or a strip tease
I raise my glance and take him in
It is at that moment of birth of a new yet familiar
language invoking the gods of meanings that
I rise up and go home.