When corns smell of sweet nostalgia
Squashes remind me of the remaining memories
They tell sadly what it was, and what it’s not today
And if it does, it’s not of you — it is so blue
The corn kernels are in catharsis, clearly in denial
The fleshy squashes are anaemic as much as they are raging
Now no more I’m sure what any of those tell of
And I keep travelling downstream
The sanity has been silenced and we can only see
Knife-wielding, gun-slinging, stone-pelting masses,
Bloodthirsty warlords, their counterparts, so many of them
Why wouldn’t you remember anything?
There’s fighting everywhere
Why wouldn’t you say anything?
You have become the flowers amongst the mountain slopes
Who would ever talk to the tacit lilies?
Why wouldn’t you reply anything?
In your comatose, turn a blind eye to my animalistic hauteur
And I’m left with nothing but to cross the nine ranges
— I wish at least the place where we grew up together
The memories are killing me every day
Nay there’s even no need for the police to kill me.
It matters not, never ever, how you die
As long as you die, the show goes on 24X7.