Rain Across The Wastelands Poem by Debayudh Chatterjee

When man and his limitations, merged in red soil-
Painted graffiti on your blue ribs- Uttara, your love
Rebelled across my heart-
Clouds gathered in your incandescent blue eyes,

Your fingers know only of arms and ammunition
Thus touch me, for I’m gunpowder myself-
Touch me because I’m a rebel within
My urges miss the bull’s eye like a broken riffle.

And since, so much radical you are Uttara,
Pull down the pamphlets and slogans from each tree
And put up instead the tenderness of flowers
For the heated and parched soil- away from our eyes
Not only demands blood, revenge and blood
But at times craves the melody of rain…

And thus in some cloudy afternoon
Uttara, we shall traverse miles across the futile
And barren lands of nowhere
And plant landmines, filled up with dreams
And someday or the other… someday years later
They shall blast with the aura of new hope...
Our children shall live, in its murky smoke…