A Dance in Silent Violins

I picked her down the river bed
Where she lay among flowers
Among dewdrops, amongst bloodstains
Of her own.
Her soul laid asleep
In the white comfort of a swarm of wasps, butterflies
And the forgettings of ‘had-beens’.
The forgettings of time, eternity and screams.
Dreams
Marched across her foreheads along with ants.
She was living on sounds.
Sounds outside her body
Sounds inside
Sounds in the distant no-where
She was sleeping on sounds
When I picked her from the muds.
I gave her my only moist room
Where I lived alone.
Unsleeping.

My home was in the center of the river
Where I stayed watching
The strange life of waters
And weaving blankets out of dreams.
I covered her with one of them
I tried to sing a lullaby
So that, she never wakes up.
She never did.

Our worlds never met
Mine insomnia, her sleep
Our worlds never changed
Mine insomnia, her sleep
But we told each other our stories
Mine insomnia, her sleep
And we each owned the others world
Her insomnia, mine sleep.
Gradually, I found that she melted in the water
The river was taking her home
I took her hands in mine for the last time.
She slept.

I took her hands now
Just as I had taken her life once
Down the river-bed.
I set her free from the constant world of our insomnias
After which ants took her over
They went in through her earlobes
They came out through her nostril
They played with her body
Made love to her.

After her body melted away into the river
I lived on the sounds
Of her silent orgasms.

The forgettings of time, eternity and screams.