The mere

the calm pounding of our heart

like a slow marching-drum

waits and waits and waits

by the mere where no sound was ever made

rests in the vibrating nightlight

we feel drowsy with sleep

while the night kisses us

with heavy lips

rests our head on polished stones

tucking our body in the autan

still without a sound

– no bang, no whimper by the mere --

our hand, stayed at the first touch,

wishes for silence and a kiss

for the soothing blanket of music

like slow ripples on the surface

or like the longing for the warmth

of a hand, of a look

one meaningful look

there would be a familiar smell

an eyelash lost on a cheek

there would be a familiar step

and the evidence of the self

an embrace which neither

pity nor comfort commanded

the possibility of conversation

and – however transient –

the luxury of happiness

by the brooding mere

silhouettes brush past us

like leaves at the foot of a sycamore

nestled in oblivious postures

the night does that to us

brings us all sorts of visions

for it never is complete darkness –

this only do we achieve in our heart

-----------------------

time was wasted in colourless activities

now we observe, witness, record

the mind takes in, like hands on a clock

carefully penning an intricate story

which will only make sense

after it stops – yes, after it stops

yet by the mere, don't forget

that feelings are all and one

like the memory of the juggernaut crowd

its blind surge enveloping all eyes

this memory threshing afresh

our logical rage which prickles the skin

like ants riddling the body

– reminder of the machinery within –

the harpoons in the flesh

the dumbfoundness because we thought

our fears buried deep, so deep down

so far down we could forget them

yet we carefully curb the need to search

lest the darkness closes in upon us –

for the darkness lurks

its eyes spangle in the night –

so that we can put our mind to rust

staring with raised eyebrows at our white knuckles

and forgetting why it is we gnashed our teeth

-----------------------

shadows drift like shafts of light

on the coruscant mere

– 'tis a peaceful place

so distant from troubled times

that no sound reaches its shore

– silence magnifies its size –

the mere with maternal palms

caresses the tussocks, the trees

the stars on its surface

expertly fingering the tear on our cheek

as one would turn the page of a book

– we are close to falling asleep now

stillness does that to us –

our heartbeat ever so slow

our thoughts quieted

ready for the motionless flânerie

– and if, for a second, we expect sounds

to be made when we stir

we can rest assured the mere

will deftly cover them

in immeasurable silence

and wait, soothing and patient, for

the calm pounding of our heart