Angol
Description
Bound by the need for breath
We lie on beds of foaming rubber.
But the room is filled with
The rhythm of blood and need and the story.
We lie quietly, listening.
The whales are singing each to each.
It is my last article of belief:
They understand their music.
You and I only have words.
Outside the window
The sea, the sea.
Searching for safe havens; wanting to cut loose. Trying to make peace with
death, love and madness. Learning that we can wound and be wounded.
Looking for solace and meaning through rage and confusion.
Jerry Pinto's debut collection of poems, Asylum, established him as a true
original, a writer unafraid to be vulnerable, to take risks, to open the door
and blunder into the world or let it sweep in. He travels, wrote Imtiaz
Dharker, 'the breathtaking spaces between madness, luminosity and quiet
rebellion...This is a writer who draws precise lines of control, and then, with
surprising tenderness, crosses them.'
