Saudade

By Rishan Roy

Wretched lands, those that have dug their nails

Deep inside my throat, mimicking words which I form;

Whiskey frothing at mouth, it dilutes

my aches,

Barbed wires they claimed on lands with blood 

and spit, 

Savoring memory on the triggers of firing contrabands,

Chained like orphans who sometimes claw for homes, only to claw out their own limbs, their eyes and their tongues in turn,

With those tongues strewn about,

Different names I call out, 

(parrot shrieks)

Different places it returns,

(human greed)

It is a wretched game, to be humans without umbilical cords

And to miss their births all over again.

By Rishan Roy