Silence lives on the other side of the lake
where the death has yet to reach,
it can count the footsteps
of the sunlight

falling in the dried petals and
can trace you
near the creek.

Death is a slithering snake
it has no legs
/or a million tiny ones/
you can feel its
ominous presence
it's vibrations,
in the earth beneath you
like that phantom pain
my granny has in her knees
every monsoon.

Silence is hidden
between the shards of the broken glass,
screeching from every flake
heartbroken by the loss of its identity
and mourning the
loss of the one it has

Death is the unspoken prayer
at the cemetery,
where it rules the territory
chest thumping and watermarking
everybody for its destination

Silence and death are interchangeable
the moment you part your lips.

First Published in the Scrittura magazine