from Pen-y-Cil
KK Sharma
Published in
Sep 1, 2021
from Pen-y-Cil
…island of the tides
where ebb and flow mingle
and smoke spray dies
over cut-wire cliffs…
but here —
from Pen-y Cil
below charcoal-smudged horizons
pilgrims wash themselves in the wind
and waver into rippled space
losing all mass in the thickening squall
gusts disfigure their open mouths
arms flail to catch distance in a knapsack
skeletal minds fly-off westerly
seeking a kraal
and here
Enlli arises
shoe-like from a fairy tale
hem of her cloak
veiling all loss
in a wrinkle
of silence
