Bathed by the naked moon
bulb
oblique rays filtering through translucent curtains
billowing down from black ceilings
into the shadow garden
where she crouches
watching for distant voices
in her world of silences
Wordless whisperings murmurings in the moon-soaked night
The soft cling of finger-mists in the undergrowth
The crackling tempo of leaves muttering
A bird calling – incessantly
Moist soil’s sinuous squelch
The trees standing with arms outstretched
Behemoth beings seeking succour
Her eyes are transfixed on the
slouching yellow orb
camouflaged in the twig forests
slinking through
her purple turbulences
on the other side of silences
-by Rita Putatunda
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