Nepali Times Asian Paints
Literature
WARY

WAYNE AMTZIS



NICK DAWSON

Scraps clutched at
What was once a world,
through shaking fingers,
falls. Territory, mapped and scouted,
with a shout swells
and shrinks. Though daily passed through
doors are not there
to open and shut. These walls
can't keep the cold out
It's not just cold that stiffens the bones
There's no ease,
only watchful wary habit
Wings no longer carry you far and wide
A diminished range
like a noose
slung from overarching limbs,
holds the village tight
Shackled gaze. Curfew-ed voice
Fiddle strings cut
No more song. No more dance
A useless tourniquet
stems the flow
Stiff-winged vultures
feast below

TILL A FIERCE FLAME FREE THEM

All the towns on the map lie inert
In the villages, the houses rise on four legs,
and sometimes on eight,
rise and shuffle. Rise before dawn
and crawl a few meters here,
a few meters there. So much commotion,
so much to and fro...
With dwellings on their backs,
with legs in the air, kicking
All the towns lie inert, all the dwellings
overturned in the to and fro,
rising, kicking...

A manchild with a magnifying glass
drags the map into the light
If the dwellings had wings, he surmises,
they would not crawl. Their papery wings
would be.. All the towns
lie inert. All the wingless inhabitants,
not wanting to be seen, trailing fright on the map,
let out a collective sigh. A few meters
to the left, a few to the right
Caught up in this diabolical swarm
children shout out what the old men and all the others
are muttering "Here! Over here!"
Their papery wings seared in the light


LATEST ISSUE
638
(11 JAN 2013 - 17 JAN 2013)


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