False Voice Poem by Prabhakar Subramaniam
False Voice
The wind in the palm tree
Outside my balcony
Sounds like rain,
The quartz clock
Mimics a dripping
Water tap,
The cat feasts
On the fish bones
Left in the bin
With the air of one
Who has hunted down
A fleet-footed prey,
A man who moves
From air-conditioned car
To air-conditioned cabin
Complains of the sun,
A saint who sees births
As high and low
Speaks of the oneness
Of the soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/26/2024 3:37:57 PM # 1.0.0.1119
