Stillness

In the summer,
when my ears rang too much
with the footsteps, those small scooped
green colored rice of the household–I looked away–
they asked me
why do you run off?

I thought of Eliot’s flowers
and the undissolved in my chest,
those whimpers that came out softly,
like a baby cooing
against the fuss of all awake world

I took it to a rivulet,
there, in the moving shadows deep
with the fish-tint of the glistening blue,
no one asked me why
no one asked me who
and I dreamt of lands beyond death
and the final sleep.

I did come back (though)
(though) with deep peace,
knowing what little I hold
knowing how little I can keep
no rice, no flowers
only few hours.



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