What do you think when you see people running? — Sometimes
it's just chaos, sometimes the other way round — happiness,
excitement to just discuss something unsaid.
Sometimes things end in whispers, sometimes it's a deluge of
rain — but who knows whether from a still face, with
surety; sometimes there are voices that even the
trees cannot hear. Some branches lay still while their leaves
suffocate in water; a plant whose name I don't recall but
remember an illustration of which from a post-
card, its petals lap some water from a pool where a girl
stands in a way that says she awaits someone, or quite
the end of chaos — hands held in desperate
posture. What would you say when you looked at her from this
distance? — She seems to me one of the group, having
submitted to her inability of running after
forest-fires — there's a silence a lip can't tell from another:
the acknowledgement of inevitability of death after a
séance; maybe that's why the chaos. All
this running. But what when excitement sulls? The end
is always the same, it all ends in silence — silence,
an unacknowledged guest — some say, peace.
India's Jayant Kashyap is a Pushcart Prize-nominee, one of whose poems was featured in the Healing Words awards ceremony, and a couple others won places in Young Poets Network’s challenges. He is the co-founding editor of Bold + Italic, and a food blogger. His debut chapbook, Survival, comes soon.
The Ekphrastic Review
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