See how the roses burn!
Bring wine to quench the fire!
Alas! the flames come up with us,—
We perish with desire.
- Hafez
The world wasn't on fire.
It only lay hostage to a
flaming orange threat.
Of a whole civilization
being wiped out with
an atomic eraser or
some such toxic wizardry.
A civilization in which the
wind allowed itself to be
ensnared, so the desert’s
flare could be tempered.
Where the earth knelt
and rose like prayer.
Where towns, set ablaze,
swallowed by the earth,
razed by overrated kings,
still breathed. Where flower
pistils slipped into cups for
leisurely sips of saffron magic.
Where, after mass burials
of girls who had gone to
school, helpless dads formed
human chains to stand atop
bridges and keep vigil.
The world wasn't on fire.
It was only getting used to
acrid volcanic lava spewing
off incendiary orange heads.
so well directed, this rage.. makes me sad how much I relate
ReplyDeleteThanks, Charu. That was a tough night; I'm glad it's behind us, but one gets tired of being on tenterhooks all the time.
DeleteThis is so sad. We are all hostages, aren't we. Those tiny graves will never leave me. Thank you for putting these words here, Bhaswati.
ReplyDeleteSame here, Geethanjali. Thank you for reading.
DeleteSuch a heart-rending and yet essential poem, Bhaswati!
ReplyDeleteI remember reading a poem where the poet says she needs a larger container for her grief. I wonder what kind of container would be large enough to contain the grief of so many people suffering such terrible horrors due to war and tyranny right now..
What you said, Jayasree.This sadness is uncontainable; no vessel is big enough to carry it. Thank you for reading, my friend.
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