no complains rise. Broken for searching for the sea
that touches the ocean floor at the other side of the world
no tsunamis die. Kill is a mocking verse
 |
you are no king
burnt down to ashes
a pecan dead. Burning is a habit
in the blue i look for that
the dance that will erase
that will cremate
the mythic legend of the third war
will be realised
soon
the pulse reminds every way
in terror will lie
the dreams of kings. yes, we'll die
Death bring it on. Spit out the change fast.
the toll of the dying bells
blind the ears now.
Whether or not death came by bus © Susmita Paul 2013
Image © Neil Chakraborty 2013. Taken at Victoria B.C.
I have withhold publishing poems in my blog for a long time now. I salvage only a few poems from the heaps of trash I write. I guard them from my affection and try to send it to journals and magazines. But this one is born free. It is born out of the long tradition of the human race to suffocate a voice that demands something right for its fellow voices. It is free to be shared and re-told forever. If possible, put a link back to this page so I may meet all the free voices that speak my tongue.
About the photographer: His pictures can tell stories. Originally called Subhaneil by friends, he is now known to the social fraternity as Neil. This guy has just started telling good stories. Encourage him by ordering a print of this photograph. For details contact him at neilcbty@gmail.com .
To see more of his photographs visit his Flickr portfolio here
Deep with meaning and pleasant to read as usual
ReplyDelete... loved it
ReplyDeleteexcellent! your poem untangled the suffocating voices of the dying greedy human race while the empty branches of the tree has nothing much to offer but die one day....very well done...
ReplyDeleteSubhanil, Kalyan and Tuhin: Thank you. Welcome to the comments' board for the first time as well. Hope to have you around ...
ReplyDelete