the map of words
some words were spokensome were not
the winter of words
entered the map of speech
body and love
entered too
earth, stars, mountains
i
discovered myself
inside the memoir
of a yellow-green
orangutan
sometimes
even the empty teacup
left on the table
becomes my teacher
and begins
to speak
then i
bow down
at the feet
of the tender diction
of a young
bottle-gourd vine
in the light
that has touched
the sea
i saw
jacaranda blossoms
in the schoolyard
there, on the crown
of the mahogany tree,
the clouds of sunset
Poetry by sinha murari
Written on 2026-10-02 at 07:42
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