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O my verse!
You swim across my veins
To flit across my pains
The pains then raise my voice as the ocean to the skies.
Then you become my wings….
That I flutter
To sing the clutter
Of those fascist religious books
Then I slam the mutter.
Oh my verse!
I, your leaves, and you, my tree
To whom I cling as the newly born baby to its mother.
The mother then pats the baby as the sun sets down
And you too make me fall asleep…
It is you, who makes me rise with the dawn,
And wish for the bright morn.
It is only you who makes me hope for the gliding moon...
And then wake me up and find me and my people in fetter,
Chained in gutter
Of spurious Dharma that twined its poisonous plants around.
It is you, who turns me in the lighting
And then I splinter, the branches of those Dharmagranthas,
Shatter their constraints,
And destroy their ramparts, they fenced around.
O My Verse!
You raise my voice as the ocean to the skies
And sing the song unheard ever before... |
