The Eleventh Hour Poem by Iniduo Iniduo

people still go out late
on the street, past houses
each other, yet, recently

noise from elsewhere floats
on the square, a garden party
street theatre, a confused man

the time arrives, without
clock, with closed books
and yet unborn years

I hear people speak, yell
I hear unprovoked laughter
in their nameless language

they gasp for air, greedy
mouthfuls, they, still pending
almost drinkable, listen

because these sounds root in
memory, drown my silence -
Long ago