Rizwan Akhtar

Way Out

The trees dripped so many words
vanishing in puddles
pattering lexical silence hibernating
under squelched roots
now bloating with extra meanings
on dark flooding roads like pages
sag from edges with stories
seeping all day cusped on leaves
a staring memory of a wet squirrel
referencing this lonely script
drowned in sounds
tweaking a larger project of rain
falling in measured rituals
for us spreading palms
in a murky veranda to find
our way out.