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Prophetic Endurance

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



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