Friday, March 8, 2013
Morning has flashed a new pile full of limbs
That gawk at with unnatural stare.
Often I've faced such images and more
That singe our eyes and leave us as mad,
In these our carnivorous days.
Topspun with fingers that tear through the seams,
I've sunk as if loadstone in pool full of mud
With no sign of divers in sight.
How to now drag our selves to those banks
That fade beyond cognizable ramparts of faith?
Tottering with feet that've lost their soles
I've stumbled on sharp little shingles that pierce
And tear up my nails to their bits.
Trudging along lanes where explosions lurk
I'm startled by faces of those who are blown
And mourn the more nameless that wait.
Punctuated now with funereal smoke,
We breathe our sighs among ash-smeared days
That ooze out with tears smelling blood.
Posted by Abin Chakraborty at 7:48 PM