Talk To Her

Silence hangs in the musty room
Through the motley glass panels
Enters the shadow of a sparrow
To talk to her.
Will silence find words?

The white washed walls,
The shadow of the bird
Inebriated by the reverberation of the panels,
The heap of dust lazing
On the faded portrait of the priest,
Dead, a dozen of years back.

Everything, everything is here
To aggravate the profundity of silence,
Her bereavement, her mourning
For losing her tongue-
A penalty for revealing too much of her heart,
A punishment for resurrecting her corpse
Rotten, stinking, which was lying
In some unknown morgue,
Her putrid corpse….half eaten by millions of ants.

-The Shepherdess