Page 42 - Poems
P. 42
Not at all about the lull and roar of the deafening surging
Mass
That pushed its way around-towards this island:
Me benched behind a burly bearded man chewing meditatively his paan
All about us the multitudinous speed that
Unfolded
As naturally as tide, as calamitous as flood,
The stampede that kills, and will, again
*
What is it all about?
*
I can understand the need to yell
The war-cry of the damned
Triumph mutates to terror
As it strikes my flinching ears
Each morning this cry must rise
Like them, a sword from splintered
Steel, cutting jagged into every single
Breach, every precious toehold
On every freighted day
*
They are the freight
The human cargo
As they spill out
So spill in
There is endless space
Within each jousting box
*
Where does it all come from?
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