Thursday, September 24, 2015


Pishach, in my right hand i hold a sword
in my left, your Paishach world
Your ghosts are mine,
Your children are mine,
And just, in a dim night, a hut burning by a river,
Foxes barking by Bhula-Masan-marshes – with marshlights
of Maya, of the mist, and of all zero-sum history –
Voices lost in mirages,
in sad fortresses, broken,
like people are broken by guns and tanks,
broken like this while,
sad like this shadow of yours i drag
and this shadow of mine you drag
Pishach, take me where your corpses burn
that i may burn with the corpse of the world,
with the corpses of all sad deaths of the world.

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