The cleaving furrow of darkness,
Though light seeps in so swiftly everywhere,
In the desire for flesh the less and more.
We prefer darkness and are deeply in love,
We don’t see even when we look,
And we don’t listen even when we hear,
We tell more than what is told.
We have doors and windows to close shut our houses.
Ruin, riots, blood-spill, greed and our desires
Amidst the sorrow and wrenching losses of lives
We write verses for lost love than distress of hunger,
Shame on your poetry indeed!
Apart from the votes, notes and populist speeches,
This country always asks who you are,
It heave away your love and poetry in a spin of charka
It makes you hope out of vacuum in a delusion,
And no one speaks to you though voices around sounds you out.
Nobody cares for you, your hunger or craving
Though life asks us to fall in love,
The least of love is love, Oh God,
Even love wants to be in limbo,
For we love with desires intact.
No comments:
Post a Comment