there’s crazy music that rains down every nook and corner of the universe
there’s crazy music that shoots up along arteries on both sides of the skull
it is like vines of dark time
it is like the darkest flames from the darkest chambers
did the newspapers not tell you this?
soon, it will be numbers – 9, 11, whatever
and names, Vinitha, Glastin, whoever – history books do not focus particularly on proper nouns of these sorts.soon, ministers will dole cash. maybe even some dog biscuits down choppers like they did when it flooded in yet another wanton country – one that they burn just like they burn yours.
and when,
dusts and clouds unsettle all maroon twilight between your eyes and mine – between now and then,
the guns will strengthen the frame a bit more
the chimneys will kill the skies a bit more
we will learn to hate a bit more
we will learn to love a bit less
and yet, and yet,
in another mad dream, where the binaries break and battlefields fade apart,
all along those heavy hallways of time, on its rigid walls that stare
there will be eyes, bloodshot, gazing at you,
who killed
there will be backs pressed against those very walls – human backs against stern walls
there will be chests, heaving, pressed against the muzzles that you hold –
human chests against cold muzzles
and you, who loved
and you, who lived
to mourn the dead
to live on
for the dream, the dreams, to make happen
for the killers to be pushed back, inch by inch
down the cliffs of void, but not of forgetting
into the coffers of nothingness where they belong
we know not if there will be butterflies fluttering about the branches of the tree of life
but we know this, that a bit of that strange, crazy music
will play on, all along its deepest roots..
Atindriyo Chakrabarty is a poet
http://atindriyo.blogspot.in/
