Count my (In) dependent Miseries
Just pause a while, this 14-15 rendezvous
And count my miseries: 71×365×ENDLESS!
I wish I rub the blood with MY FLAG!
I am a bird locked on that bleak historical document
With the wings clipped in the past,
And the present full of ferocity,
And a future, a phantasmagoria…
My miseries are countless:
Broken promises,
Untimely deaths, unmarked graves, untried prisoners!
I celebrate with funerals, under siege!
Not what you celebrate today and tomorrow…
You have your Jinnahs, Nehrus and Ghandhis
I live in an orphanage,
A by-product of your rage!
Where your never-happening dialogue is my lullaby
And your two flags: a mattress, a quilt
Under which I lay to welcome a sleepless night
Or sometimes a nightmare,
Sometimes a nocturnal raider
To get thrashed by my door
And get knocked myself unconscious!
Your colourful Dawn and The Hindu,
My GK is flooded with bloody tales of bloody Fridays…
Come on for a could-be dialogue!
I am waiting as a waiter
To serve you green apples and saffron,
Still, green is yours, saffron yours,
The red is exhausted much!
Would you ever mind to let me contain my own colours?
Poet can be mailed at ishfaqyatoosp@gmail.com.
