There is Silence in the Morning

September 22, 2007
By Henisha Patel, Burlington, MA

There is silence in the morning
Like trains in the grey dawn.
Like staring out of foggy windows, watching
Slender shadows stretch across the empty platform,
As the sore steel tumbles towards
the clean countryside.

I see merry pools of light exhaled through the window,
Sunlight sleeping on the compartment floor
In the hall, there is laughter,
Like maroon silk, delicate and drunk.
It’s like I’m gazing at the world through a plastic veil
I feel a sudden cold that grips and claws at my reflection.

There is a dry red leaf, falling.
Burned by the cold wind.
A terrible storm is about to come,
With a fury that tears the sky;
Rips the moon right from the clouds.

Steel grows tired, thick smoke screams;
A sound like trapped birds,
Their wings held by coarse words,
The thick smoke screams and I am awake.
There is silence in the morning.

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