In POETRY by Wayne AmtzisLeave a Comment

Night closes in with its breath taking grip
Night that walks in the guise of day.
Light footed across the rubble
morning comes as if rising from the dead
That which came and came again
leveled a world. In that sudden tolling,
what great works were interrupted?
The beating of a heart
A heart! Nine thousand hearts!
The mirrors that temper vanity
lie shattered, and multiply.
See how they run –to pixel the pain,
to instant message grief
Hands set to unremitting tasks ahead
are stitched, deeply stitched with glass
with shards of light.
For 2 days I was healthy
in touch with the earth
All it takes to make me whole
I realized as I turned in place: is a 7.8 shot
and a 6.7 chaser
Now the earth again stills
and I’m left spinning. A partner
without a dance
Eyes no longer widen
with a survivor’s camaraderie
and a tale in the offering
But shrink with pain,
mourning the lost. A hawk still glides
The city below is not the same
The town below is not the same
The villages below are not.
And will never be.
That which came and came again
leveled a world. That which leveled a world
leveled our souls. “My village is dead”
My village…
No light rises from the rubble

Kathmandu April 29, 2015

About the Author
Wayne Amtzis

Wayne Amtzis

Poetry is my sadhana/ Meditation, my muse. Other LEVEKUNST articles by the same author.

Photo by Aarjus

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