Internal Mayhem Poem by Matin Bairagi

Deaths stalk around all of us,
Call us from our sleep,
Ride on our shoulders,
Pull our ears whiffing hard,
Putting their cold hands on our shoulders
Make fun of us,
Drive a knife deep inside or just scratch our backs,
And then walk away laughing ha ha ha
Or make a show of crossfire and gunfight
To be a media headline a day or two later,
Or lie on our bed coiled up like a king cobra,
Or metallic flies aim straight at our tops.
Deaths come down in hordes from the palaces,
They are celebrities,
We lose everything - all our sleep, dreams, joy and warmth of life
They all hang on deaths' doors.


Translated by Prof. Dr. M Harunur Rashid