Speck of Dust

I am a little shard of rock,

hiding my colors in sadness beneath

shreds of green algae, here where the currents

converge to form a single stream.

Lonely and cold, the place where I live,

taking in the detritus of every day,

the same low tones retelling the legends

of what lies between the headwaters and here.

So I know in this world are green mountains,

silent woods, fields of grass, rocky cliffs;

there are men and their homes on earth’s surface

before the river reaches the city at last.

…

Gleaming of water with sunlight’s last glimmer,

leaves dyed with sunset litter the stream,

as trickles of blood dissolve in the splashing

and there on the current—a body’s remains.

The leaves are holed with artillery wounds;

with carnage the deepest water glares.

Above all, a strange voice crying out, bearing witness;

after ages of this, I can’t take anymore.

!?!

I am a little shard of rock

splitting open in sadness. And better

that I be ground into a speck of dust

than suffocate here underwater!

(Recognized by PEN International–Thailand, January 1981)

___

Pitpreecha, Chiranan. ใบไม้ที่หายไป (The leaf that went missing). Bangkok: Aan Thai Press, 1989.