THE BURNING SUN I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun Rising from the hills of human sinews, Hearts are my friends I live in the city of sufferings Although in my fist, I hold an ocean of history I sculptured man silently – Wings that carried birds Did not bring them back; I am drinking thick darkness In the haunts of those forests Which cry out in agony for the birds That did not return; Clutching at the garment woven of memories I twine myself to the feet of my country. Heads that were hanging to the trees Smile as flowers today in the branches Hearts that received the bullets Ring in temples of our land like bells; Blood of theirs nights squeezed and offered By how many to bring forth this day; They are hanging like icicles On the ridges of our roofs; Look, it is an iron fist I have; I shall excavate the flame of light From the rocks of time – I will set fire to the sleep of resisting centuries – To the rivers that run in passion after the sea I cry halt, command them To paint the colourless arid lands in green, Invite back the smile which fled away In terror from this land, To the butterfly trudging hungrily for a flower I shall give a garden – Come children, eat Bits of nights dipping them in moonlight, I shall not allow the sun to cheat this sacred day; If he wakes not on the horizon of this land I shall tear my burning heart And put it in its place With the scarlet of my living flesh Illuminate the earth I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun Rising from the hills of human sinews – - Seshendra Sharma -This is the 1st poem in Seshendra Sharma's second anthology of prose poems titled “The Burning Sun “ - In his intro to The Burning Sun Seshendra says there has been an uninterrupted undercurrent in his life as a poet , that is his life nerve and that has assumed total expression in this poem

comments button 1 report button


Subscribe and stay tuned.

Popular Biopages


artist, musician, writer, Luddite

Troy, United States