It isn’t that this awakening is a regression
or a time warp kind of a thing
in history’s procession there are protests
and murders as well
they murder words
they murder speech
they murder thoughts which go off a tangent
then they murder murderers
The time that is spent on discourses
are profitable, provided there is rebellion
in speech
in action
in poetry
Poetry composes self, the other, the
past in deep mythic resources
in the mind, its excavations
in the language of body and soul
in slow very slow abstractions
This awakening is a horror
This awakening is mad holocaust
in the nations
in streets
in homes
Gun toting people
in caves
in railway tracks
in the cinema
in airports
in the house, the home
Poetry is one indecent, sinister
truth
in pages
in flutter of the wind
in books dog eared
in the classroom
in grotesque homilies.
The little children in the streets.