Poem

There They Blow

Yogesh Patel*

Grey as a bemoaning sky
There they blow
Words as fountains
A chalk mountain
Blown to pieces
Night’s blackboard
Stunned, speechless

There they go
Click-cluck cluck
Tribal drumbeats
Mountain to mountain
A language thread
As an undercurrent
In the liquid air

There they breach
To catch the sky
What a folly!

There they are
The guitar plucks dancing
On the water currents
The liquid strings
Playing a song, alien
To rise, swim, dive
Love and sing
There they blow
To emboss the solitude
To fill the canvas
To stamp the existence

A  happening
Is the only meaning
A still moment
Yoga
Dissolution and dispersion
Namaste
There it blows.

 

* Yogesh Patel a co-editor of Skylark, has published international contemporary poetry since the seventies, featuring the likes of Neruda and Jorge Louis Borges. Currently, he runs Skylark Publications UK, and a non-profit Word Masala project to promote writers and poets of South Asian diaspora.