Thursday, 26 November 2015

Colour of Blood

A man I never knew of
was lynched to death.
He ate forbidden meat

A boy who never was a friend
Starved himself
For days numberless
So he could be heard

The men whose blood
Tinted my city streets
A very gory red
Were unknown to me

The red in their blood was
To me, to you,
To the wind, the streets
The walls, the air.

My heart is heavy.
It burns with acidic anxiousness
The pungent fumes that release
Bitter burps in the mouth
Have taken over my nation.

Gunmen can now
Knock your door
For uttering a disobeying word.
You wouldn’t even know...
Dead with your brush in your mouth
And a sleeping wife in the bed
You’d have been knocked
off your world.

Dark black...
The coffee is still brewin’
In the automated machine
It’s heady fumes filtering the
Conscious comas of live bodies
Your writing lies ready by the desk.
Rebellious, in royal blue.
Unread, and
About to be dumped
Just like you.

You died,
Not once but thrice.
Yet, has there been a stir?
Your death(s) have been
Coffined into the soils of ignorance
To the la la lands of forgetfulness.

It’s been a leaden descent.
The wind is heavy.
Restless, souls grope for light.

There is no light
It’s all a blur
Numbness has engulfed me.
Engulfed you. I’m falling.
You’re falling.
But can you feel it?
What was it like
to rise?
Do you remember?
Sinking is my only memory.

We’re sinking.
But look! There!
The man with the corroded eyes
Is sleeping.
His hollow hands have been eaten up;
His mouth hangs low
in a mass of flesh.
But he seems to be sleeping fine
Where is the pain?
Is there none?

The wind is heavy with the
pain of defaced men,
and their children.
The wind is sinking with the bullets
that have pierced
the hearts of the believers.
The wind is dying dry.

We have been striped
off our skins
Whips have been lashed
Into our hearts
The infectious lull of
this slumber is
Doping you...
And me
To death.

We are dying.
We are dying.

Pinch me...
Won’t someone please pinch me?
I want to wake up,
And feel the pain...
And believe again.
I promise I will wake you too.
The rains will pelt down
the leaden wind.
With the sweet smell of the soil
I promise to take flight.

Like the dishevelled, wet crow
Perched on the telephone wire
Nudging itself clean,
Nudging itself dry,
Nudging itself back to life.