Wednesday, May 21, 2014

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.

1 comment:

Abin Chakraborty said...

ur poems have this prophetic voice...anybody who reads 7 or 8 will become familiar with it. but whenever i come back to one such, after a long gap, it strikes such a powerful note.