The Eternal Bedfellows

After the ritual is over

Let us wash our hands

And make sweet love to each other.

The night is still young and dark

Let our eyes be wide open but we shall not see 

The greed and lust lurking in the corner of our eyes 

Or the lamb's blood curdled in our yellow fangs.

Let us not hear the shrill, last-gasp cries of the creatures 

Who are sacrificed on the altar

Till they break and fade into the distant horizon.

We bear the flags of the King and the God

Or themselves we are!

In the cover of creeping darkness let us whisper sweet nothings and make love to each other.

Is there a murmur of dissent

Though faint and feeble

 Rising from the fringe?

Let us stand on the podium and castigate them as a bunch of

'Traitors' – 'Faithless Sinners',

the followers will do the rest for us.

Fear is the key to keep alive our rein

Free souls who raise their voices shall have their necks in chain.

Blood will curdle on the street

the voices will fall silent

And in the silence between the two waves of the wind, so strange and eerie,

Who knows a storm might be taking birth in the belly of the horizon beyond the eyes can see

Dark clouds of despair and anger 

Fuming and raging deep inside the million hearts 

Might be getting ready to roar 

and gathering steam at the ocean's core 

for sudden bursts.

For now, let it go for a toss 

Who knows if the threshold 

will it ever cross.

All the cries have fallen silent 

the empty field is all for us now 

Though the air is filled with stench of half-burnt bodies 

We would lie on the bed of grass and let their tender blades cuddle our naked bodies

And make love - sweet love, 

undaunted by the foul smell of each other's breath

Or the quivering eyes that abjectly fail to veil our lust and greed

Or the sharp, monotonous chirping of crickets beneath the grass that irritates and blunts the senses.

For we must hail our union to keep our flags flying high

Hopeless or in harder times 

we would peddle our merchandise

'Faith' and 'dream' which will never falter

To keep our flocks glued together.

Do we hear a whistle?

Or is it the rushing wind

Alerting the dormant, wearied souls 

In hurried whispers

To wake up and equip themselves for a looming night of calamities,

Dark and long

... And perhaps, also to flame the light of hope to usher in a warm and bright new dawn.