Her Voice Poem by Muthu Krishnan

As a nomad in the deserts of thar,
I spotted an oasis on the 
descending lands of the south;

On the peak of the 
Pine tree I found a nightingale perched
In its state of sorrow it sung me a song;

I can  still remember the lilting voice,
But those were funeral cries 
When I heard your voice;


She didn't sound like the women 
Who held the mic in the opera,
Nor like the fairy with the golden hairy,
Who calls out for her love from far behind the walls of a castle;

She didn't sound like the cuckoo
Singing in its state of merriment 
After quenching its thirst;

Her voice was serene and seemed not 
To quiver;
Even if the earth under her divine feet started 
Ripping;

It's not easy to hear it 
Like the cries of a baby;

As she completely disobeys 
The laws of Freud;

The urges;

She is the one 
Unlike anyone;

Nonetheless whiff of her hair 
Calls the lightning 
To breach my heart.