The Tribe

Tribe to which monsoons cry,
Heavens march for its revival,
A melody for its people,
Touching its fragments,
A calligraphy.

Tribe to which the past burns,
Time halts for its revival,
A book for its people,
Revealing its pages,
A calligraphy.

Tribe to which tongues are cut,
News publish for its revival,
A queen for its people,
Purifying its lands,
A calligraphy.

Tribe to which my blood seeps,
Organs rip for its revival,
A page for its people,
Signing its identity,
A calligraphy.

Tribe to which I am being hanged,
Men whisper for its revival,
A burden to its people,
Breaking its bones,
A calligraphy.



Sunday, 15th of March 2015

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