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 Satyendra Srivastava
Again With that same burning anger The bull came back Written all over him just one intent ‘Kill’ His smoking sweat…announcing The fight to the finish The red eyes chalking a horizon A raw fire in a cornfield Swaying into flames of blood
The matador: still present in his eyes The silver thread ready to tie the horns The sunset dripping over the skyline Symbolically as if A world with wife and family Would be reduced Shrunk to the size of Lilliputians into a tenth of any normal measurement
There was this rotten void Stretching like helpless bodies Lying dead after the crossfire In the bull’s rage I too was labeled A Judas
There was a different script as well A grandma’ story of a rabbit Which had opened his mouth To show an itchy world Always ready to surrender And the bull was to undo this
So he would have none of it In every inch there was for him A shot to aim at and Reaching out to him Claws of death he had to meet The duel that had to be won
The rhythm of anger was echoing the witch hunt in glances He finally attacked with fury unparalleled And met the inevitable The thrust of numbness Turn and twist And fell to the ground and died And afterwards the mystery In the night The matador too killed himself Having slaughtered his Primeval enemy
April 3rd, 2012 | |
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Category: NRI ForumTags: Sacrifice, Satyendra Srivastava | |
