Poem: Dry Season by Cristina Querrer
O, butterfly! If you only knew the beauty
Of your exposed reply that castigated the cage-
But sudden death awaited as you pried apart your shell.
How awful, too, for the lion's catch twitching
In its mouth-born it seems, exactly for that purpose.
Birds ascending for migration
Remain in the ear by its splintered sound,
And sharp air left a gash in the day
Which went on scarring the nights.
Pity the silent order of things here in the tangle
Where bellies and hearts yearn for reach;
Tongues singed and throats thirsting
For the dankness of downfall.
© Joel B. Tan