by: Parimal Patel (on: Jan 18, 2020)
Category: Poem   Language: English
To slice a hope in stark terror
he thought to bid holy goodbye
to destiny, and let himself go
in the shadow of weeping deads.

The orange moon looked mutilated.
Quietly stood a suicide bomber,
ready to get killed for a home in white heaven
and destroying the leaping stars.

Who had the blood on the hands?
Hiding in the white gown,
crossing the shelter, to drop the guilt
on the road, never to look back.

Century of oppression, like baked blood
shines on the coffins of martyrs.
At dawn the pariahs promise to lead
the band towards democracy.
Revolting inwardly
the fountain chokes.
New year amputates
the fingers of a whole man.
History repeats a parallel.

He sets the house on fire.
Sky withdraws the light
till the queen of darkness sleeps
before the future unfolds.
Smell of burning flesh drifts.

This moment was for God
to wipe the sweat on frightened face.
Hair and bones hide in the urn
that was forgotten.
Death has mouthed a betrayal.
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76 days ago
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