Years well cradled
Sifted by, like fine flour,
But husk of memories
Manage to stay.
Noon of youth
Arrives in bright gushes,
Looting many coffers
Of sensual calm.
Coyly the fresh wine
Was brewing of
Raw attention.
With eyes, they gulped down
Lusciously.
The roles of purity and honour
Were cast soon,
“the twigs must bend to carry
Its heavy fruit.”
Like curly locks
Haggle with dry combs,
Relentlessly innocence
Combats stern vigilance.
Sullen fears bind all
Spirits here, for tyranny
was heritage and traitors
were visitors.
Ritually, the nonchalant
Seductress spins the yarn
Only to be someday
Torn to bits.
This time the termite ate
Into the mighty mountains.
And terrain of her body
Tastes bitter cold.
A perforated soul was
Laid bare, ripped violently
At several spots, then
Smudged around in newsprint.
They call it “ideology”
On which they breed “brotherhood”.
Two clans of brothers collide.
Earth that weans them,
Cries.
The battered bosom been
Robbed unremittingly,
Surplus hatred hangs heavy,
Coloured as in fire or a
Chiseled marble tombstone.
