By Amara Christa

It came like a joke
Casting on us, all yoke

It kept warning, stretching our ears but,
We kept deaf ears
Eating, drinking and playing
Now… We are doomed
Castastrophy has laid side-by-side with humans
North, East and West has lost its way to earth
Yet, the earth keeps smiling, eating all who kept their ears deaf…

We are poets
Unique men
Granted to dwell among men of more delicate mental fibre
Men whose minds have, as it were, exquisite filaments, thrown out to intercept, apprehend and conduct home to man with stray messages…
Fighting between the outer mystery of the universe and the inner mystery of souls
Even as modern telegraphy has learnt to search out, snatch and gather home; messages, wandering astray over waste waters of wide oceans…

Yes! We are nothing but pencil in the hands of the creator
Woe to them who live carelessly, casting their souls to an untested one
Yes! Centuries of time may pass from the stones into our hands; ages of human living may travel from our hands to blood, thereby, making time timeless but…

But… Let’s make ourselves tourists in this land of insanity
Let the shapeless and formless fear we’ve known since birth unenvelope us
Let our suffocating  tiny cottage never let our endless prayers bounce back from the ceiling
Let’s make salvation, our music; let it play over and over in our head; let every symphony, concerto and piece; every note of the trumpet sing hope and life to lives



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