Like a dog wind is roaming in the streets
Like a cat wind is mewing in the windows;

Like a cobra hissing on the rooftops-like a
Wounded soldier groaning in the branches,
Where there are no leaves to knock down-

Hungry night is smoking the stars as beedies;
Without wiping off the gruel of moon-light stuck
To the moustache of darkness it went away driving
Like Tonga, on wheels of rickety dreams hoping
To get passengers-
A moon was climbing over the factory, with
Flames of moonshine fluttering on the body.
On the bank of the stream a hut, the silhouette of temple
Raised to the goddess of poverty.

Souls of fallen martyrs fill the air with goblin
Voices, vultures circling over the distant hills…

The book in my hands becomes a child and plays
On my chest. A thousand stars, all at once hurl
Myriad spears of light on my eyes, disturbing the gorilla in me.

Gorilla who feeds his mind on wild winds,
Heard the voice of a new age in the howling sky
And changed his side in his sleep-

When it was daybreak my flag flooded all
The streets with the sun of revolution.
- Seshendra Sharma