I am a dog.
A dog caught in a ‘conflict’.
But your ‘conflict’
Is nothing but the shriveled carcass of the dog,
Dressed in the dust of the streets
A sumptuous feast for waiting beasts
Salivating for the succour
Of dead bones and meat.
My bayoneted dreams of a homeland
Have become fodder for your ‘conflict studies’
My mother’s restive eyes,
have become a footnote in your tome on secessionist history.
In Guwahati you sit and write,
Of bullet riddled bodies,
as hollow as your sorrow.
Of decapitated torsos,
as severed as your souls.
With ink, you try to fake
my dried blood on the rake
In the cloak of celluloid
You try to sell
my raped virginity to the world.
In the gathering dusk,
Bornali lights the lamp
The sun dies crimson,
Bids farewell to the day's cacophony.
Freshly wiped earth,
that never will be.
True love or is it true lust?
Naked and shivering
From the mist will emerge,
My seductress, on a black horse,
In her bosom and throbbing thighs,
the fires of my lake.
I lie still,
While you fasten the screws.
In the coffin of my impotence,
There is no space for a handful of moonlight.
in the rain
my hearse awaits.
Expectation! You sweet, alluring whore,
You have turned me into that lamp post by the road,
Green with moss and freckled with rust,
Now only the passing dog pees on me.
Pimp and whore
Pimp of the night,
I trade my happiness,
Her bosom for your bed
Here I go again,
to meet my lovely,
A whore at the crossroads
Wondering which road to go on.
The shy flame of the candle; virgin demeanour,
Struggles in the forest of the night,
The passing wind steals solitary glances at her,
Outside the trees and the rain
whisper and wait
To seduce and ravage
the naked, alluring flame.
Barren lies the sandbank,
Raped river meanders through,
Statues weep before the flowers,
O aseem, why is there a boundary now?
Carnal pleasures pummel the mind,
On the streets, under the lamp post
Sits the orphaned milestone
Behind serpentine bars on tired windows
Sits and stares my childhood
Yesterday was an abyss, tomorrow a myth
Glazed eyes, Pregnant skies above and quagmire of ravens below
Icicles of frozen teardrops stab my heart
Sap of life oozes forth,
drop by drop and now a torrent
Below in the street, ravens sit in conference and caw
Clawing at my meat.
Gurgling my blood,
Screams of my raped soul stir me in my sleep.
Rupkamal Sarma, Guwahati