Will be banished from civilisation,
Exiled to the edges of determined silences.
It shall wind its way through the rain forests of repeated conversations
And stop at a random cottage where the smoke
Gives away the promise of home.
Up the tiles, it will scramble, careful lest the children awake
And sliding down the chimney
of a warm after-dinner coffee,
It will rush back.
And they will say –
‘Look! The face of love is black.’
Read at Manisha’s, October 9th