The land is no one’s,
except for those who are militarized,
where night boils in hot sky,
cities and towns have no good news,
where bullets puncture heart holes.
The sun bulges and cultivates itself,
and flows through the mountain gates,
and gushes like a cascade.
Into the rushing serpent of the night,
sucked up by the rising dragon,
it’s torn at the seams with no flag.
Copyright©2011, Debashish Haar, All Rights Reserved
Regis
The sun bulges and cultivates itself,
and flows through the mountain gates,
and gushes like a cascade.
-gene.