Vast expanses of red meadows,
The broken glasses of a window-pane;
Perhaps, somewhere there is my second home,
Perhaps, sorrow is my second name.
In every wild shriek a bullet wound,
A passionate tear and a drop in the ocean;
The dance of destruction runs wild-
Every brick a raconteur of some ruin.
A solitary broken shadow
And a thousand drops of blood,
The wind that shakes the barley
Also crushes its bud.
Two ounces of their hearts,
Two measures of their smiles,
Two goblets of the moon-drop
Scattered across the miles.
A thousand dreams undreamt
And a thousand sorrows mine,
A thousand seas to sink in
For a thousand suns to shine.
A gallery of downtrodden truths,
Deceit in gild, some white lies,
Dreams somewhere in the firmaments,
A little stardust in their eyes.
My home, my land, the shade of my sky,
A slice of soil, my feet on the earth,
A spoonful of air and a nibble from my rivers,
Amputated lies the land of my birth.
A world of dreams drowned in the oceans,
An embodiment of life burnt alive.
Some memories, some hopes and a stowaway
Dusted, disciplined, in Time’s archive.
Dirge, lament, as if to moan,
Sweet lies, and bitter acceptance;
Remembrance, lay still in my heart,
The Metaphor of my Existence.
