the fire we desire

It came as i was plucking mint in kitchen

with my hands bearing the hotness of red chilli

with an empty cup of tea singing loneliness

with the grinder grinding coffee

with my mind saying to me 

it is different from Neruda's

"I am not copying him

I am not imitating him

it is as true as the sun to my heart"

Poetry they came naked

it is you making them wear fanek

it is you coloring them red or black

Revolutionary, they salute to the evening sky

when their chief read out poetry

but they call it manifesto

Teachers, they teach poetry in classroom

at back home poetry like a broom

with it they sweep the room

or fan away their sweat after sex

Some sees poetry as meat loaf

that serves in silver plate with silver spoon

like it is for the best mankind on earth

Some see it as movements of past

that froze along with blood in streets

under the boots of human insanity

Some see it like rain

that is seasonal like mensturation

Poetry to someone is just a word

that fights the world in white pages

but in reality he she can never fight

dont we call it a lie?

Poetry they came naked

knocking at the doors of your heart

some fake it tapping their feets

following the rhythm of gunshots and bombings

but in a land like mine

it came as a spade to till the fields

nakedness of poetry died long ago

as it came with our desire to defy

with our desire to survive

with our desire for another renaissance

we can't wait for poetry to knock our doors

we must sow poetry in the ashes

of our death brothers and sisters