A Silent Density
Here, there are no road signs,
Each step is a calamitous word
Into the Silence.
I squeeze through
The space between two trees,
Knowing I risk falling headlong
Into the abyss, hidden traps
Whispering my own end.
Already, I bleed, like a metaphor.
No compasses will light the stanzas
Of my descent, the sun and moon
Mere images of another plot.
The trees must burn, and the valleys must drown
And I must rise,
A tongue-less prophet.
©Nikhil 2020
