By Debendra Kumar Bauri
I am sore,
fallen from the hellfire of tyranny.
I am the song,
of sharp, unyielding pain,
gasping for breath,
each day,
in the whirlpool,
of a newborn hell.
They measure,
the salt in my sweat,
the speed of my blood,
racing through my veins.
And I draw a bolt of defiance,
on the canvas of oppression.
Don’t think I am blind.
In this raging pool of hunger,
I watched you,
you let the fingerlings grow,
just to fatten the greed,
you dare to call a soul.
I see through your conspiracy,
the way you pat my innocence,
only to silence it.
You bury me,
and my dreams,
deep in the darkness of soil.
But each time,
I rise,
a defiant question,
cracking the crust,
to sprout again.
I am the sip of red wine,
that haunts your veins.
The addiction,
you can’t escape.