POETRY

Pulse

Micro prose

Image by Tima Miroshnichenko via Pexels

Having consumed half of my brain, with only the left side left, I look for a sign of intelligent life and find naught but fossilized silence — some static to measure time on my expedition to territories uninhabited by you. Yet in my languorous search, my unslumbering polar nights, I chance upon anomalies — prints, trails, and nests arranged just for me. To have strayed from that towering existence from which all creation branches, I have walked further under its shade. And in that expanse, I let myself hear it — a pulse.

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