Voice

I can see the picture of mind’s knots
In folded vicissitudes of inner space
That resonated with shrill bird calls,
Flashes of memory, failure thoughts
That soon faded away in a foggy past,
A fall from a fecund sky, a brick wall
That returned all pharyngeal sound.
In fact there is nothing with my voice
Just I cannot scream loud enough
To be heard on the river’s other side .

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