phoenixrising

  This wait of the long hours,  Stretching to sightless days;  Hiding behind the curtain, all cynical and grey.  Alliances and legacies, some of blood, little bit of petrichor emanating from clay.  The rain when it starts, will only stop with a flood.  Those sodden, muddy tracks and jagged little rocks,  Embedded in the soles of the thin-sandalled feet;  The sweat now drips through the torn fabric of the clock.  The shirt is mended with needle and thread,  Too late for those sandals, of pebbled adornments,  The tired skin of thirty-eight; must rest on its bed.  The thatched roof, over the dung baked walls,  Electric magic yet to reach these deprived corners ;  The seasonal cyclone to tear, at the barrier of the shawl.  Another election year as it draws ever near;  Whispers of ghostly promises heard a thousand times before.  The voters’ hand casts the ballot, not of love but of fear.  And the tears,...

  Order! Order!  Where there is none.  The black coats argue on;  While the white wigs await the pun.  ‘My client demands…’, bellows a crow;  The eagle monitors with a detached eye.  The proceedings of the day will not end at dusk,  To the client, there will be no final goodbye.  ‘And I repeat…’ reasons another bird;  Hoping his efforts will justify the price;  Justice, after all, cannot be bought whole; Instead, it is offered slice by slice.  A ‘hmmpph’ from the judge with an itchy ear His fingers scratch the lobe, as he leans over to hear.  A decade of arguments - useless for the most.  The loudest voices rousing the resident ghosts.  The court of mercy has heard enough today;  A thousand writ petitions of requests and pray.  A date shall be announced, in a month or five,  Ample enough time to in legal ledgers dive.  A thousand laws; impossible to remember every word;  The hearing to de...

  And night falls,  The stars grow dim.  The corridor lights  They gently swing.  Their solemn sway  And a tiny flicker Evil comes this way,  It’s footsteps now quicker. The art of healing  And of revealing a lie,  Will be paid in blood,  A price too high?  The silence of the halls,  At the end of my shift, Echo louder at dark,   As I walk, sure and swift.  To be caught between a wall,  And a black veined hand,  This mouth now stifled,  And I can no longer stand.  A broken bone here,  And a bloodied eye,  These tear ducts now dry,  No more tears to cry…  On the morrow, rises the sun  And they filter in one by one.  This stiffened corpse lies  On a mattress, all undone.  Frantic, frenzied calls  And a story to tell,  Of a fevered imagination And truth to quell.  The white blanket of red  They pull over my face  With the autopsy co...

  Raise a finger to your lips;  The list grows long,  The evidence is strong;  These papers of red, Ordered so many dead.  An island shaped cave,  Became innocences’ grave.  a thousand mouths gagged  While the men in suits bragged.  Such terrible scars on tender skin On the broken flesh and the soul within.  A gentleman’s game, not child’s play,  A thousand voices silenced without getting a say.  And who holds all the cards today?  Certainly not those girls of decay.  A parody of justice and a thousand redactions.  What else to do but sing a song and pray?