Ever since it erupted in his son
as a fatal genetic disease
my neighbor has gone mute.
His only daughter, tender of age,
died of of the same
a couple of years back.
For days he woke up, sweating
in visions of crumbling bridges.
His son, not yet to his teens,
held his arms.
As the bank people decided
his homestead is not his any more,
his wife learned a new art:
the art of laughing and laughing.
Now, as the boy lay
shrouded in white,
he went mute as a rock.
Now I know how
volcanoes create a sage.
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