Dance of the Wounded

In this city,
the role of senses
are shifting every moment.
The body doesn't irk
but soul irks forlornly

The clogged arteries of this city enclose
the labyrinths of sanity,
Inhumane preferences of
ancient agonies,
Hasty ghettos of
vultures and corpses,
Shadows for days
empathy for the nights...

Here,
the cold prayers
from the lips of darkness
travel to the roots of lunacy
The congregation of sellouts lives
with dripping absurdity,
Like the bona-fide versions of
to-be and not-to-be

The first scream joins
the screams of termination
& naked souls take birth
with the disguise of absurdity
In the impulse of dismay
the body gets nude and
the soul dresses up

In the mad crowd,
you can find me
in young men with knives in their hands,
in the courtesans with garlands of flower
and in priests dangling their cocks to the apocalypse
And I exist
in carcasses of living misery
Swinging my breaths
on the pendulum of hunger
Planning & plotting of murders
of all including myself

In some corner of my mind,
some weary eyes offer a calling.
Saying,
Expunge these references
Erase this destiny
Listen to the deafening roar of silence
Let your crystal fists should sprout
The seed of empathy
Let the doors open for inner senses
Let everything gets consumed by the chaos
including me

Then on the horse of
white solitude of peace
I will break free from my stubble
I will scatter the beautiful scent
of my delirious anguish
The horizons of light will transpire
My Rakhs-e-Bismil