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Void spaces

Since the first bomb blast in my town,
I began talking to winds in strange languages.
Since bayonets had been replaced by rapist-soldiers,
I started building tin-nests on tall branches.
Since bullets became drunk with madness of
Trigger happy men in uniform, I have exiled
My death to another place where love only
Does the killing, where I could die sweetly,
With no feelings of hatred or revenge.
And to bring me back to the land of hypocrites,
Mothers denuded themselves in the market-place,
In broad daylight, and a sister of mine fasted for years,
Only to be discarded as a torn flag after electoral mandates.
Since my kid brother disappeared, without reasons
Or questions,
I keep looking at mirrors, searching for his face which Blurred away in cliched identity cards of a nation,
Where my vers libre floats in void spaces,
Like a stringless kite.

Copyright © Ibohal Kshetrimayum

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