The Creak Of Old Doors Poem by Bina Sarkar Ellias

when night stretches

its quilt of woven stars

over my sleepless eyes

i hear the crickets last song

before they sleep

i hear the wind lull leaves

into the stillness of night

i hear the sea murmur

its ancient wisdom to the shore

i hear the plaintive call of a train

weary from endless journeys

i hear a child wail in Syria

for its lost mother

i hear a mother weep in Mexico

for her caged child

i hear the protest poems of Miyas

in the by lanes of Assam

i hear India moan

for its tattered democracy

i hear the march

of new age fascists

i hear the bellows of Putin, Trump, Erdogan,
Modi, Duterte, Johnson, Jong-un

i hear the creak of old doors

waiting to be opened

to usher in a new age

of unforeseen incandescence.