a murmur of mollifying mantra pervades the air
swept away by the dry, dusty wind over a parched, arid terrain
deficient of dank breath, lusting for pneuma
where tumbleweeds play, where the scabs of the earth lie
a thousand cries fade into one silent prayer as it falls from wet lips
on a distant land where it silently creeps
a thousand bare feet tramples upon its clefts
leaving prints stained with fresh blood
slowly oozing down to the very depths
morbid chill breaks the humdrum of the night
as the silver platter disgorges its wan, mournful kindle.
10 December 2001
Monday
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