Troubles

Angles of bones from deep within pits
Question this air full of burnt rubber smoke
And chart the new numbers of corpses unclaimed
That spittle my districts in red.

Quietly I walk, but look back with fear
And wonder whose turn is this day to be shot.

Hamlets that rang with melodies of birds
Or fields that had ripened with golden-green songs
Are pale now with mouths full of ash.

The veritable dance of democratic farce
Is cymballed with howlings of orphans in vain
In a land that has lost all its shame.

Oft have I thought of marching on streets
With candles or banners unfurled.
But fearful of causes too distant from mine,
Have left all my anguish unsaid.

So how should I find a new roof that'll house
All of our voices in sync?

Rattled still I type among gunshots at noon
And puzzle over souffles and mousse.

Girl Clad in Red

There's something to be said, for a girl clad in red.

Suddenly my world full of pedestrian mire
My restless old soul full of uncertain ware
And hardened old pigments on palettes rather stale ---
All of them all - stand blemishless and free
And float through a world of violins and flute
For an orchard of symphony unheard.

And even though I lack a name, place or mail,
Still we are in for a long spell of thrill
As sure I'll have that same little chat
Daily as I wait for a busride at ten
With memories of moments that loop through my gaze
And kindle my dreams all aflame.

So even as I jostle with sweat, mud and grime
Her eyes look and smile and make my heart chime.