>The phone sits mute
on the polished table
cluttered with everyday things
So much remains unsaid
but fear has placed
a finger on these lips
Do you hear the wind
whispering among the leaves
Listen to the clouds trembling
under the wrath of thunder
a meek rhythm of your name
Can you see the red haze
in the laden grey sky
Or this fold of pearly-blue
behind the fiery sun
Amidst black puffs of engine smoke
Do you see mist in these eyes
Can you hear the ticking clock
in the darkness of night
but not the echoes of love
in the spaces between
The phone sits mute
A bulb flickers with hope
but wisdom keeps
a finger on these lips
© Gopika Nath
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