You can severe my tongue
But not my words
For they spread everywhere
Like the fragrance of a wild flower
Unseen and unadulterated.
Tongue-less people sing the song
Of a muted rebellion but remember,
It is only muted, not mutated
Into the shape of obedience.
Each mutilated voice has a story to tell
And the wind will take it beyond boundaries
That you create with your laws and morals.
Can’t you see the electric posts growing tongues
And speaking to the wayfarers in the sound of light?
Don’t you see, at the horizon, celestial spheres
In their holy communion reciting my muted words?
Won’t you see the mountains in the north
Redden their faces with the blood of untold stories?
Till then, keep smothering the mouths that speak up
Pull out the tongues that sing the songs of truth
Blind the seers and wound the innocents
And even you break the abode of Nightingale.
Who cares, like the painter who painted the jail walls
With his spit, blood, semen and tears,
The silenced people will speak through their
Bodily excretions, remember.
Remember the wounds will speak the language of blood
Scars will narrate the stories of torture
In the broken skulls you will see white dreams yet to be dreamt
It is not child’s play, Mr.State
Histories’ kids will come back to take the payment
With their broken bangles and dishevelled hairs.
On that day in their eyes you would see
A thousand tongues speaking one word: