Stop Those Freedom Cannons

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That guilt reeking dusk he gulps, with some smouldering sighs

His abrased chisel seethes, dungeon door writhed 

He (the sculptor) cherished her nudgy prayers for a few morsels 

She, a mute urchin, mutilated again, by those heinous fingers

Stifled he sat, on a whale-bone bed, urchin’s mother’s wails, his noose… 

Walls crouch in frigidness, accusatory air reverberates 

In a quiver tempestuous, he hauls the Psalm book, shuns the sly pen

Tonight, his language, neither Hebrew norAramaic 

Chosen ink is justice, its syntax coined embracingly for all

Brown, banal, boorish, both genders and transgenders!


Flora and fauna, all agog, lame humans slither sledge 

Now, it’s the sculptor’s turn to discourse… 

Listen up folks, stop those freedom cannons, roaring tongues, inflammable skies… 

Look beyond each other’s eyes, don’t you see oceans of avarice 

Trees, robin-nests, earthworms, you strangulated, their hearts and havens 

Ploughed their tomb souls to erect your towering concrete prides 

Supreme warriors, you are not, or else you wouldn’t have butchered your brethrens! 

Your vases still opting for white lilies, meagre morals, you are!


Relinquished to the bone, I leave you with this phrase 

Stop those freedom cannons 

Step back, loosen your clenched fists

And hold atleast one palm- friend or foe irrespective 

One tolerant step, one peaceful word, and one luminous mind… 

Most graceful revolutions have commenced through mindful oneness 

Also, when they released those doves, and their vain valour, along.