Jayeeta Shamsul


The Drum of Revolution


The drum of revolution:
I am a wooden tribal drum,
I cause explosions on your eardrum,
I don’t know the reasons of being calm,
I am a rebel on musical realm.
I am nothing but an empty hollow,
I make rapid sounds from willow
I need nothing but two drumsticks,
I am in love in mind freaks,
I love to be played by rude touch,
I love to be hurt,
I dedicate myself to the attacks,
To silence I always turn my back.
I am celebration of rendering sound,
I am festival on tribal ground,
I am in love with the boy beating me around,
On seeing tribal dance I am spellbound.
I love to be attacked
I love to be invaded
I love to be hurt,
That’s the extreme joy of my heart.
My heart explodes in sheer joy,
I can’t count the tribal convoy,
I only see myself spreading joy,
Like a blushing lover of tribal boy! !
I am not your flute of happiness,
I don’t care for sonorous bells,
I am nothing but a wooden shell,
I am your dramatic rebel.
I am your drum of festivals,
I do color your carnivals,
I am the sound of your fiesta,
I am waking you up from siesta
I want to wake you up,
From your eye glued to mobile apps,
I want you to feel up
And beat your own drum.
I am the drum of your worship
I love to renew friendship
I love to be hurt by you
I want to rediscover a new you.
I am the drum of procession
I am needless confession
I am the voice of resolution
I am the sound of revolution.
And nowhere close to solution! !
I am the drum of war
I am change’s warrior
I am revolution’s admirer
And calmness hater.
I make clouds burst
I am lord Shiva’s hand-drum
I am the African talking drum
I am drum of passion.
And dream of obsession! !
I am drummer of a tribal guy,
To express love he’s very shy,
His sweetheart dances to his drumbeats;
He can’t defer it from his heartbeats.
I love to observe folk dance of lads,
I love to see dancing lasses
I love to be used in love-rituals,
I am the very tribal drum,
I don’t know ethics to be calm,
I am brimming with joy,
I want everyone to enjoy,
Drumbeats of revolution.
I am the mean of pauper’s earning,
I have become his life string,
I don’t give off music’s ringing,
Still, I am ever glowing.
I am drum of strive
I won’t be a drum of shrine,
I hate to be used in strife
I won’t take anybody’s side
I want every face to smile
Forgetting reasons of malice! !

Submitted: Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Topic of this poem: music

Form:


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