Convince me

After the commotion of war is over

when you have survived

onslaught of oblivion threatening

to efface you

from the archives of my memory

when personal grief suddenly

begins to make sense to you

beyond the making of the spectacle

of someone’s dying in war beyond

the vulgar madness following the

public spectacle you will listen

to the shriek of silence mourning

the ‘someone’ who’s dead, you will  listen

to what cannot be translated

into an expression of angst

listen to what will avenge

your indifference towards

the horror of war

then convince me :

love (or that strange feeling,

masquerading as love,

when

your heart hears a knocking

and it trembles)

will rebuild itself from a scratch

from almost nothing

from the rubble of absences

from the echoes of a laughter

you can not simply forget

from the sorrow of a loss

you still can’t comprehend

from the centre of your world, now

a handful of ash,

you still revolve around

from washed-out plinth

of your recent failed love

upon which, you tell me,

i will carelessly craft another heartbreak

say, that

it’s in nature of mundane things,

to repeat in cycles

and, finally,

devastate you so

you could start, again, anew

another war

from another beginning

of another cycle

maybe, i would be able to see through you,

and

pledge that i believe

(come what may) in whichever

form love exists,

love exists,

and i am willing to play along ?

————

Missing

Most times (and at all times)

when you’re not around i notice

that i  am transported  in my mind

to the coldest winter in a house

(already threatening to fall apart)

perched above a  lake on a tree

that has come of an age

from where looking down

as soon as i realize

somewhere something is missing

(perhaps the memory that

you’re long gone)

the lake fades into an evening

silence barks at me as i reach out

for the shroud of loneliness

to wrap myself into

reminding me that you’re not around

anymore

everything else vanishes

a clock on the wall

comes to a grinding halt

i freeze in the ice of time

and, unwillingly, die on you

(even in your absence)

————

If the war would realize

If  the  war  would realize  that in the belly of the night where everything lulls itself into a slumber without fear or excitement counting

stars with a promise to wake up to the awakening of cats and the downpour of immense light

i am approaching the night while counting stones in grief that i will hurl upon waking up on his murderers

in his memory

what was the fasting sparrow escaping from?  even the passing  mention of hope in our country has the tread of death (nothing remained of him but his face at the time when he said his last bye before they killed him)

i am approaching the night on the horseback of time while preparing for a war i will fight tomorrow. i am convinced i will also be murdered.

if somehow the war  would realize how many more stones how many more days how many more fasting sparrows will fall to the bullets how many worlds shall crumble before it calls a day and casts itself into a river and flows into the blindness of the sea from where there’s no return?

the belly of the night where everything falls quiet i would also fall quiet counting stars with a promise to wake up, if at all, and the fasting sparrow, he would not be shot at or ran over that day and on other days as well

that’s, if somehow the war would realize it has to end.

Featured image: Photo by Johnny Silvercloud on Foter.com / CC BY-SA