dappled bloody sheet
and nineteen lakh bodies
floating to the asphalt shores
of Brahmaputra- naked and filled.
Birds flying away, leaves falling cold
sun setting low, moon bent till toe
homes painted grey, heart- dead fay
indians-moments ago, now far away.
how shall one be in solitude in war?
how shall one be happy in sorrow?
if hunger seeks hand, why not lend?
to live in a land of love, can’t we amend?
why to cultivate hate, when we all are same
with exhaustible body, and transient name?
Sutputra Radheye is someone among you who writes poetry, and prose to express himself. “Worshipping Bodies” is his latest poetry book. He believes in art with a purpose, an art that revolts against the commodity fetishism of the present society.
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