(February/'47 / Connecticut, USA)

Free Them O' God!

Free them O' God!
For, the wind is spewed with ashes of hatred,
The bilboes that wait to bangle the innocents,
Hauling them down the barbed streets,
And caging them up, to blaze in iron aviaries.

Free them, O' God!
For the ocean is not thirsty any more,
It is full till its gullet, quaffing in pints the viscous gore,
Sluicing out from the naive skulls,
And from the distressed hems of their hearts.

Free them O' God!
For the sod is no longer bleak,
It has drenched itself in the guileless claret,
Flushing out from their green dead ingenuous veins,
And sloshing about under its skin.

Free them O' God!
For the day doesn't know, for whom to wake up,
When merry-go-rounds and slippery slopes,
Are becoming the roller coaster rides to deaths,
And the juvenile paper crowns breed orphans.

Free them O' God!
For even the night hasn't slept for years,
The sounds of tormented voices, in the lap of gunshots,
Are hovering and echoing in its ears,
Making it stone deaf in every midget of seconds.

Free them O' God!
Free them all!
Free your pure and guiltless mortals,
What sins have they sowed?
That you are making them plough for!

~Nayanika Dey
Copyright ©: 1 May,2017

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