WALKING THE LAST STREET
The day just broke with sunny
Unbridled tongues burning
Our scalp from far above.
This road where masquerades collided
With gods, and leave their feet in the mud.
Men can be gods, but gods never are men.
Knowing this was the cradle of humility.
As a traveller with an unknown destination
I have basked under the half evening moon
Forging it remaining half in my tales: have
I not Feasted beneath starlit nights and
Drenched under watery arrows of rains.
New land is this not you? I set my leg on the road—
Waving down passing cars,
Squeezing my mouth to form sounds,
To form translation in every sound I utter.
But no! These moving cars are deaf,
Maybe my language is too godly to be heard
In Sodom.
Though I know life meaning is meaningless
In the face of a frenzied mob of death roaming
Every land has misery like cryptic embroidered
In cheap tabloid.
Walking around now are men wearing
Hunger around their heads like a cape.
Sitting at the mouth of roads are kids
Robbing their hands for succour.
In the heart of markets are rows of women
Bent by the mountain of despair
These are strange things to a stranger,
To the eyes not familiar with seeing grief
This street is a downtown in hell
This hopeful body of mine can't survive
Deep bruises of here
Hey, Taxi, I am going to the
The last street in the state, I heard it's
Fair over there.
~~~~~
EXILE, BLOOD & BOND
I am so much like an exile
Unrevealed is the meaning
Of the thing called me.
I lost myself on the highway of life
I look over time through the
Passage of time. Seeing a man
Walking just like I do, culling night
Around his eyes like a killer
I am the reincarnation of my father,
I am a new page of his old life
I hear his voice infer from the remnants
Of my words left in the air. Infers, yet, no basis
More Than bright days, I love nightmare
Those whose major character is my
Father, a man buried with his light in daylight
And seeks it at night in a hellhole
Or this nightmare where his mother
Asks him who the owner of a half-burnt
Cigarette found is. "Not mine" he'd answer,
And that's how a little light faded in him
Constantly standing at the front of the mirror
Holding his picture, checking if his face
And my face have fought and lost
relativity
But no, how far can I wear this broken mask?
I long thus to a place where things received
Change, where names find their translation
And meaning, where the burnt skins get comfort,
But not where the link in the blood is cut off
MEET THE POET
