by Aryanil Mukherjee

beyond the low heights of clouds
there’s little space to swing
rubber-tree leaves rub off each other
perspiring in persistence
between this bird and another
a cold registers itself        without snow

who doesn't love the piano?
blue ribbons, sand slippers
the dahlias without doubt.

inside the aircraft a sunlit boy
lifting up and down window shutters
strange flowers done watching
on clouded blue embroidery

uprooting conservation the trees fall
in sequoia
which i didn't see or hear
thus didn't fall

perhaps death is a hum; acoustic undulations
heard
as we explore the festival grounds
trying to read the hand movements
of a puppeteer

• Permanent link: http://www.asiancha.com/issue/9/aryanilmukherjee

Editors' note: Read "A cup of fine tea: Aryanil Mukherjee's "Hand Movements of a Puppeteer"" here.