The Red Dot

April 17, 2013 § Leave a comment

The city sleeps at the light of dawn and wakes

to the sound of the rain slapping the pavement at midday,

when men and women pour kisses into each other’s mouths in the midst of the river Liffey,

the rain clinging to their skin like pearls.

 

At home the people sing broken songs with broken voices.

On the 14th of April they march the streets,

forgetting the blood that drench them and the dead that litter the ground.

They sing Rabindranath sangit without even understanding the words that surround them,

enshroud them – but by the time morning comes around

their tears have washed away the bloodstains on the streets

and their words hang like freedom on the streets of Dhaka.

 

But the city sleeps at the light of dawn and only wakes

to the sound of rain against the cobbled streets of temple bar

and while men and women

pour kisses into each other’s mouths, we pour blood

on the sunlit streets and wait until the monsoon showers wash away

the red that dots our lives.

 

This one kind of came to me in the middle of the night so I guess today’s poem is free verse!

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