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AISHWARYA IYER
22/4/04
a song in a country with no name

The empty street spun
Like lost desire in the wind
Bubbles wide in the haze of moonlight
A tumescent pain
Glistens on the tongue,
Wants to sing
But there is no voice

Lean fingers dissolve the heat
The musk of a coming sleep
Has hung in curtains behind your eyes
Softly kneading this rock of night

Rise, rise, like a midnight dream
When a new sky is built
Out of white stones and flint
And purple fields are sinking
In your throat

Now sing with this silence
Lying along glass panes
Of open windows
And with night, find
open eyelids
strewn like yellow flowers
over the street.