They are baying for blood
blood the colour they have not seen
they have heard it is red
they want to foist religion
on the dead tree of a country
they are searching for blood
and catwalking with sentiment
upturning history, refashioning
it in glossy new text books.
Is history a mad man, runaway thief
to be quarantined?
They are now giving final touches
to history.
The history you never knew
never dreamt of
the history you never read
Now in dreams this will torment
till the ashes of a country weep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem