Halt this disgrace of disgraces
Your prisons
cannot hold
Gold grace of our truth
Handcuffs are for hands
You are up against rivers
Under the owl’s wing
Bone branch in white
As secret as our
roiling tide
Coming for rancid men
How many horrors must we bear?
More than we can count; less than you may forget
I made your shield
From the pieces of my back
Halt this disgrace of disgraces
Against this bale of darkness, rest now
Before battle for paper and place
Our trenches will one day be gardens
Wisterias fed on blood
Rest now, my friend, young soldier
Your rage is a flower
I hold in my hand
As red rose to rifle.
(The poet is the author of the bestselling 'Last Song of Dusk', among others. His new memoir 'Loss' will be released later this year.)
Each month, Poet’s Corner will choose one poem to highlight. Write to us at sundayherald@deccanherald.co.in
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