Poems by Edward Drewitt
Silent Gatherings, an ode to 2020
This is the quiet
that entombs nations.
The thunderous quiet
that hovers at mass graves;
the ringing silence that spreads
across flatscreens and cellphones.
It has no name, no song,
Nor ceremony
But gathers as we gather.
Outside, the darkness and quiet grow
bearing witness to its own veiled breath.
Behind closed windows and bolted doors
pale faces recall other times, other yesterdays
that once lived without threat of tomorrow.
For certainty is only guaranteed in minutes now,
perhaps seconds. A measure served
by the most troubled hand.
By Edward Drewitt
December 21, 2020
Rebirth
My eyes devour the sight of the death fires
that blaze along the edge of the tea coloured river.
The dying sun takes its descent,
with the patience of the gods,
amongst the living.
I can feel the cold wind now, sliding across my canoe
in this antique land of Bodhisattvas.
And while I watch these fires burn from my boat
their light and warmth turn persuasive
as is the custom to those
who have travelled great miles.
There is a language that the river speaks
at this time of the evening.
It tells me never to trust the horizon;
It tells me that home is an illusion.
That all moments can be misinterpreted.
I look around and I acknowledge
cluttered Varanasi awash in centuries of soot.
By Edward Drewitt
November 8, 2020
