Genderless Voiceless Air by Priyanka Banerjee

You don’t know my name, my gender, my religion And yet,

I don’t Blame you;

You don’t know how I breathe and pine for  air, water, fire

Like the deprived Medusa, insolent  Diana or the disrobed  Yaggyaseni –

But  I don’t Blame you.

You don’t know how they cracked my rocks, poisoned my fishes,

Stole my words from my myths of survival  and played with my nightingale, 

my dreams, my sombre mind’s  gloomiest thought,

The streaks of light of my Ancient 

Abode –

And still,  I don’t Blame you.

You don’t know how I died again and again before I could 

Unfold the secrets of my raped soul, genetic deformity, my occupied territory’s tolerance of injustice.

Assassination for the sake of liberation !

Resurrection for the sake of inspiration.

Grey ashes fly high in the luminous space of Eastern air,

As they play cards in their dark rooms,

Uttering words of wisdom,


The doomed paradise or Palestine, 


Or Dravidians –

Multiple selves emerge from the silent monk’s deepest meditative trance –

Encircled by God’s light,

Nations express truth of slit lips, beheaded corpses,

Rotten flesh of sold out bodies.

Politics for the Mass !

Red dust defies Darwin’s truth.

Red smoke of vaporous death challenges sonorous

Rhythm of perennial triumph

Over the moment’s 

Last love.

Caressed by the tempestuous surge of trembling layers of 


They sleep in the  paddy fields –

Flutes embrace acid rain,

As they tear apart the slender, floating  structure

Of  expanding rainbows.

Expand and grow and smell the flowers that grow at the graveyard

With fire on their petals.

Do you still search for my 

Burnt up ashes 

Within the flickering flames

Of blue fire ?

Liberty can be found  in genderless, voiceless  air –

Breathe it and I will never blame you.

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