By K Ramesh
Brother, listen:
when the dark arrows
whiz past the forest,
where deep inside
an elephant trumpets
loud, not knowing
what on earth is happening,
It doesn't matter whether
you are in this country
or the other,
you may wake up to wipe
the blood on your face.
Your own blood,
and someone over the border
may be wiping his,
as it trickles down his face.
His pain and yours will be
the same,
and both of you
may raise your blood-drenched hands and ask, “Why, why!”
You won't get the answer,
and your voice will be smothered by the demonic missiles tearing the night
to pieces.