Still Life
I can see them, tweeting furiously as the slogans rise and fall, in ghazal-like cadences. It’s chaotic, the only discipline being the hashtag. The police are far better organised of course — in rows behind their bamboo shields, their birchwood batons so tightly gripped you could see their veins stand out. We have names and martyrs – Taksim, Tahrir, Tawakal, Tripoli. They have statistics, lists, orders, warrants. There’s adrenaline everywhere. Ours flowing in wild rushes, theirs like a dog straining on a leash. There may be, or they may not be blood on the streets, gas, tears. Right now there’s only a fragile silence. Meanwhile, I can see around me, the windows shuttered tightly. From some, I can see eyes peeping, heads pulling back. Across the barricades, I can see the vans, and the big officers. Peeping through half-shuttered windows.
still life…
the cobra and frog
sense each other
*
Raamesh Gowri Raghavan moonlights as an award-winning copywriter by day and daylights as an award-wanting poet by night, and sandwiches an archaeology course,running two literary clubs, astronomy, the occasional trek, some peer counseling for suicide prevention, and learning Gondi in between. He thinks he is funny, but his friends vehemently disagree.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/raameshgowriraghavan
Twitter: @tweetinghaijin