Dirge On The Death Of Daredevil

history says ‘never ever dare cross
glimmering shadows of life’s ghosts.’
but you did
did as that yellow serpent
soft cool carefree
crawled off its carved course
crosswise the asphalt reality
got crushed
soft cool sapped.

you too lay cut-up cross on the iron bier rail tracks
crucified
because you crossed
because you didn’t know history
like that stubborn spider
struggling to hide the age-old photo of the purdahed woman
under the shadow of towering cactus
with dusty tangle of its webs

you wanted
to break the bloody horizon caging the flying song of sapphire sky
to pile the corpses of purblind farrows in stinking sty
to be different and so had to die.

they say you will become a ghost
they peer about in lecherous darkness for your shadow
but you can’t become a ghost as you said
ghosts are invisible day or night
ghosts can’t get their shadows right
ghosts dissolve in the darkness of blind eyes.

still the ghosts of life
halloos in slighted streets staring with the dullness of oft-raped eyes
hovers over houses pandering to impotent lust and crushed bust
roadside dustbin overflows with bulging polythene of what who why
souls on their last legs bellyflop with flippers
dusty white cranes stand stoically in black gutterwater puddle
happy couple on platform bench sit close their hearts huddled

i am sorry but you won’t be remembered
by the fuddled frumps lost in time’s muddle

by Hemang Desai

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