Islands, Cages Crossed

This poem was originally featured in Canvas Literary Journal's Summer 2016 issue.

There's the bourgeoisie,

we can hear it on the ceiling, 

in the cemetery,

sailing through our blood,

linked by textbooks 

and the history between.

But the thing is,

we're kites on Mount Everest, 

higher than the feet below,

how much does it matter?

Feelings are scarce, besides

quiet winters blowing your hair

into sirens when the end is near.

There's that familiar rush. 

There's the silver lunation 

keeping us tied in the dark.

We care more about who owns

than who takes care.

There's that confession

everyone's got left to say,

to liberate the inanimate.

There are no stars still alive,

there's the truth.

PC: Rajeeb Hazra