Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is rapped by clamour
Of self-appointed guardians of morality and culture;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
Blackened with clotted blood
Of insidious intent.
These streets used to be crowded
With people and cattle and dogs
And longings in hearts.
Now slogans have displaced longings
And also some of the people.
We have created enemies
For the sustenance of our arid hearts.
The cooing of pigeons hangs heavily in the loaded air,
We are in a country where the cattle are deity,
That thirst for human blood:
History’s way of avenging itself.
Don’t worry, history is a ghost that will haunt
Wherever you may choose to hide yourself.
No escape, no redemption, no hope.
But I’ll be with you till the end.
What began with a bang will end in a whimper.
I’ll be there with you, with the whimper.
That’s my love. My helpless love.