How can you wake up to a broken world
and yet feel sweet?
Do you have a chance beyond bombs?
What happens when you come home and
find the address gone?
It’s steamy, stifling.
Always there’s a crouching beast
ready to jump at you.
The sky closes in and there are
vultures circling overhead
ready to pick your flesh
your affections and the land
becomes a text of shadows.
You’re pushed from one place to another
carrying your body across strange lands.
and there’s always the vulture with eyes
sparkling with crematorium blaze following you.
You become homeless, intruders.
There is no dawn,
only an endless night and
bodies poisoned from burnt rice.
Once again the angel of death comes
in the guise of a vulture.
You possibly, realise there’s no martyrdom
and the evening smog descends on Singur.