The Storm

Let the winds carve open your wounds
Long forgotten,
The night-rain lash open glass panes
While the wood crackles in the hearth,
Heart breaks like twigs twisted.
Let the devil make promises
And young priests believe them.
Let God with a socialist leaning
Sign peace treaties with the west.
Men make love, women be cruel.
Ghosts and memories engage in duels.
Let the poet sell himself,
And the artist brazenly cheat,
Let the whores of Paris,
More pedestrians meet.
Empires will fall tonight,
Volcanoes will crack,
And memories of old heartbreaks
Come rushing back.

The Country to Which I'll Return

The Country to which i will return,
Will have saffron fields all over
The morning Azaan will be muted
The Fridays will be those,
Four days of the month
When blood will flow
To purge the country,
To which I'll return.

The country to which I'll return
Will have a single God,
One religion,
And one definition of love.
Rakesh and Prakash Can't hold hands
Amina won't love another Anand,
December 6th celebrated in over 330 towns,
The country to which I'll return.