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How much of these

hills have they besmirched

by the savage onslaught of 

time?

I go to them only

when colour fades

and they erase all time’s

beginnings from my mind

these hills are not only history

but riverine enters them

and they are soaked by rains

a tapestry which when sundered

will eclipse time’s denudations

I watch everyday, a fantasy

a myth spelling out of dreams

and a quiescence which is

unbearable, I go there

sit, watch and narrate stories

It will rain soon and the muddied

earth will enter the hills

flailing arms, composing 

night songs and bringing 

unease to this quietude

of rainbow coloured dreams

Do you still feel that we should live here?

hands clasped praying for every day to end?

a subversive act of loving

but not knowing what to do 

among dark shadow lines

intersecting these hills into 

cut wounds of sorrow

as night comes to escape from

realities.