with hatred fall asleep
and with vengeance rise
from your sullen graves
to let the silence drown
beneath the mud of traditions
and bake it in the sun
to make a brick for the museum,
this is an urgent call to arms!
Incessant gushes of the wind
through the iron grills, the curtain
fluttering against the backdrop
of the fading night, hazy grey.
Mild chirrups of the winged lives
can be heard like a symphony
from far across the murky dawn,
unspoiled still from the dissonance of growth.
The civilization shall wake up soon,
with noise, cankers and selfish greed,
to drown the bliss of harmony
and the sky would burn yellow from the grief.
The sweet monsoon wind softly blows
gentle and soothing cold on my face,
yet a poison, spread through my blood,
keeps me sweating profusely,
like it’s a summer noon outside!
Raindrops have lulled the capital
to an early sleep and the roads
are empty, shining dark and wet,
still a craving, spread through my blood,
leaves me sleepless and too dry!
Writhing in agony I wait
until the pain sings me a lullaby!
“How many faces must you burn
to find the precious one you lost
countless years ago when the world
and everything else in it
were naive too, just like you and me,
foolish, stubborn and ignorant?”
I keep on asking over and over
while a sense of desperation creeps in
as both the pitch and loudness rise until
my voice cracks in utter resignation,
from the queries though only silence ensued,
for my humble mirror holds no magic spell.