They killed him

They killed him.
Tonight he will be lying in the morgue
Like so many anonymous men
Who had no history
No relatives
No friends
No men who were kind
I heard they killed him in the evening
He was wandering naked in the streets
Trying to enter shops and begging for alms.
Each of them threw him out
The restaurants across the street where they serve meatballs to the rich
And the restaurant just beside it Where the band comes alive at night
And the traffic police just across the street whose pockets are full of bribes
They eat money these days
They have desolate rooms in their homes
Full of conscience that money can buy.
They murder significance
insignificance and echoes of remembrance,
They offer empathy and syphilis
They have mastered the art to be blind
Rolling in my bed tonight
I promised myself there will be no sleepless nights
The CCTV camera was wide awake
It registers fucks, tenderness,humorous voices and cruelty.
No, we do not rise
No one checks cameras
No one sees homeless madmen with amiable eyes
I heard the shopkeepers beat him black and blue
When he lay whimpering on the road
the city ran by
Spaced with apathy and the human fear of being hassled
But then who killed him?
Everybody has that coward in their bellies
Weeping their weakness and growing shrill mountains in their minds
I didn't kill him
I wanted to hurt the men who hurt him
I had run down when I heard the story
There were closed shops unprecedented emotions,
silent trees and misty darkness.
An upraised situation has been knocked into a morgue
Somewhere in some part of the city
to forgetfulness
There will be no sleepless nights
Why is it then I weep for madmen, long nights,and faithful ghosts?
My childhood beliefs have been torn down
I know the real is different from poems
And poems are catharsis
And we are all there lying across the city
Tossing and turning tonight
And we are all so lonesome
Smashed by the palpable, the cruel and the absurd.

Nobody knows about the pit that's been dug

The night was shining in the glass
Perhaps it was dreading extinction
She is beginning to know of nights
that bloom and creep through key holes
pools around her bed
even forgets to fade when mornings come early

Incredible as it may seem
she was carrying nights all dappled in folds
to work, to concerts and 9 o'clock dinners
Shrill chimes hung so gladly to the languid hours and lurking thoughts
that often came wafting amidst sounds and sights
Don't permit the thought, she would whisper silently
But knowing eyes grazed beneath her day

The library would remind her of the sparrow by the window
mornings brought
She and he had shared her mind and pleasant pastures
She had been this fool travelling to stories of tender men, airy castles,
heartbreaks, a white chapel and to freshly poured odes.
They had both been uplifted by whims and dreams.
The sparrow still flies and feeds her chicks.

Who knew cassock clad Bishops can roll out nights?
She thought they held hymns, mornings and minds
The night took them all
even the morning wind that floated in her soul
The faith that held an alter
preached to cramped silence,the Sunday heaves and silent seats
Resting on Madonna's breast is that beautiful baby boy
Even Mary had these nights but a saviour came by
Incredible as it may seem
there are tiny graves in the neighbouring cemetery
Nobody knows of a pit that's been dug.
Night's been resting in it.
The same night that pooled around her bed.