Beauty in Threats '

By Aman Sonam

Last night a crow rehearsed its grief on wire;

The city hummed like something half-awake.

A plastic bag caught flame upon a spire,

And smoke mouthed prayers no god would dare to take.

The wind forgot which street it came to kiss;

A lone leaf tapped Morse against my sill.

I counted all the chances I dismissed,

Then felt the moon lean in to hush me still.

Dawn came unshaven—late, ragged, raw;

It smelled of rain and yesterday’s regret;

Yet in that cluttered light I found a law—

That beauty lives not in peace, but in the threat.

By Aman Sonam