When the Sun Rises Tomorrow by Deyasini Roy

When the sun rises tomorrow homogenized,

Homogenized into its rubicund armour, From its rasping embers, 

Embers of wanton vandalism and fraudulent candour,

The candour would remind me of you my son and the derelict tapestries of your affection, 

Affection that held our sun from tumbling into a bedlam of fanatic ruption,

Ruption in the boundless canvas of your arms,

Arms where tales of your impeccable valour now lie discreet,

Lie discreet under purulent debris of mindless dogmatism and sadistic communal maraud,

Maraud that shall remind me of the gravitational pull of your tears

Tears crashing against the cardiac shores of Abbu's hoggish funeral hearth that would roll him back to life with its woolly edelweiss touch. 

The touch that would expand the roots on your livid white shirt and take you to the Chai dookan of Karim Chacha,

Chacha's dookan was a cozy nest where Babus of all tongues would swarm in,

Swarm in to share the changing topography of their lives and swab down the smudged contours of langour, 

Langour that made Chacha slip into the profundity of his eternal paradise,

Paradise that welcomes Humanity mantled in a smoggy shroud,

A smoggy shroud of distressed tears and the selfish holocaust of bigotry,

The bigotry breathlessly consuming the night and churning out ashes,

Ashes of struggling fears

Fearing if my son can ever make our sun rise, 

Rise again from its deepest bigoted slumber, 

A slumber that awakens the bells of the Chariot Wheel,

Wheel approaching toward an unknown sky,

An unknown sky that would home the sun rising tomorrow.