Sometimes theres voice

Friend from the fieldsometimes I cannot speak

but if you will look  within, maybe

we will hear

what is being

said. Maybe

if we can bridge the miles that fell between

the broken things, that broke:

provoke me to rise above these

little unruly places

my tribes and unseen pathways

our spilly bazaars and subways … oh brother

the words hang in the silences between us

and all the noise of our trains and sparrows,


sometimes I have no voice, but maybe

These  are mine :

the tribes’, the trains’, the subways and

unmet unruly spaces :

too too much, to audibly


Indian Tourist Village

Indian Tourist Village


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Filed under bridges, culture, friend, introspect, people, suspicion

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