BY SAHANA ARUMUGAM
My city cries out in
fifty different languages,
ranging from a whimper
to a scream.
Each one an open secret,
for hearts around here
are fading flickers of candle flame
smothered by eons of darkness,
for mouths around here
swear innocence without shame,
proclaiming our tongues are dead,
when everyone knows
the meaning lies beyond the words.
My city bleeds
as the dying wails of our ancestors
from wounds not allowed to heal,
gaping wider and wider
but still so invisible,
for eyes around here
hide behind rose tinted glasses
while pretending they don't,
for mouths around here
preach justice without a break
but not behind closed doors,
as they throw slurs and daggers
laced as polite pretty phrases.
This is how it's been done for ages,
they say,
crushing all the buds
that dared to lift its head.
This is how it's been done for ages,
they say,
our air charged with blood,
and our land, a kingdom of bones.
My city cries out in
a hundred languages,
in all shades of rage and grief,
ranging from a whimper
to a fucking scream.
Each one an open secret,
for people around here
are no more human
than a monster under a child's bed.