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Thursday, September 29, 2005

I Wifeless


In the afternoon when there are
no songs in the air, in the dull
grey afternoon when the sky's in a shroud
And people to their houses withdraw
To fire up the silence with fermented-brew
And men cuddle to their wives
In the same strange ancient way, I, wifeless
And she husbandless, the Indian girl
with the big red cherry for face,
That girl that moved me to Oh!
Prahalad, stood by her window
her cherry-coloured face
more illuminated in the dull afternoon
She smiled and her teeth were balls of
white clouds amongst purple tinged ones.
She waved, a compulsion for me.
She spoke words,
Words that came across the silences
Pitter-pattered
Like the music of rainfall on zinc sheets:
That lightened me up like fermented brew:
Transforming the dull grey songless
afternoon into one of birds'
and sun's music

(Milton Williams in A Treasury of Guyanese Poetry)

Posted by jebratt :: Thursday, September 29, 2005 :: 0 comments

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