Ananya S Guha writes

Gathering Vessel of Silence

Washing feet 

memory is 

now an artefact 

when flapping 

of wings 

the crow 

O the crow sullen

bites into night’s 

dreams 

a painter draws my life 

the artistry is taboo

what remains is a neck 

sticking out 

and hands feet 

mumbo jumbo 

Somnambulist I cat walk 

in night’s dreams and tight 

ropes, the crows continue 

to peck at sorrows 

infantile or otherwise I subvert 

laws meant to obey 

Disobedience is after all a word play

only the mind knows how it rankles

in a gathering vessel of silence.

The Birth of the Crow -- Bill Mayer