Like a pebble skimming across a glacier
a tone setting prophecy and harbinger.
Like a pair of forlorn eyebrows
some mention of its very first breath.
Like stay back and think of turmoil
an end and a beginning.
Like a whisper heard in the last tram
a tale written in unrhymed cantos.
Like seven second snapshot of things
with too many paralyzed half-dreams.
Like keeping silent in this bleeding night
and amongst a sweating multitude.
All roll into one, a life in microcosm
in the atmosphere of a razing inferno.
First published in International Times, 2026
@gopallahiri
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LatinosUSA 
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