The Voice* Poem by indira babbellapati

where from it comes
i know not
sometimes it's as
close as a whisper
at times i hear it
reaching me
piercing through the
innumerable dark layers
that wrap firmly around me
surprisingly, there are times
when i hear it as if
a formless being talks it over
sitting right in front of me
of late i realise
it comes mostly from
within me...

*in response to Onelia Avelar's
comment on 'dialogue with self: iii'

11dec2009
13.44hrs