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.