for you...
i drill my heart
a hole for the whole of you
a fool for your full...
but instead of pouring yourself in
you take me
a whistle of mockery
and blow me the laughter of your friends...
they blow me too
and play me rhythms of a fool...
a play thing
your toy for games...
your habit.
a song
after we must have smoked
half of the sun
with sticks made from polythene in poetic sacks
and become heat
or fire
or martyrs...
we shall pound our remains
into a sweet night song
and a rhythm of a new dawn...
not for the pharaohs who brag of golden shoes
or the cleopatras who pride fortresses in silver satchels
or for shogunal spirits in the shrines of mints...
it shall be the song
for freedom in the clefts of infant cries
for peace in the holes of broken cisterns
for comforts in the valleys of discomforts
for celebration in the hamlets churned by the noise of desolation
for answers in the prayers of mourning mothers...
a song for posterity
in the smiles of the moon...
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