The water was everywhere
but not our awareness of it.

We only knew the ice —
the age of ice was when
we lived our mammoth lives,
sabre toothed towards extinction.

At the onset of the great thaw
we were reborn evolved,
undergone mutation.

The searing blast of a call back
touched the Mesozoic frost bite.

We never got out of the ark
or smelled the waves before,
never knew the texture
of the latent ripples.

We now know each other’s sin.
The age of ice is long past,
it has rained in the woods.

Each drop of water writes a rune
on the submerged bed of extinctions.



Amit Shankar Saha is a widely-published award-winning poet and short story writer. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the Griffin Poetry Prize. He is the author of two collections of poems, Balconies of Time and Fugitive Words.Β  Twitter: @amit_shankar