My country

The laughter of yesterday are
Faint echoes now

Now, I conspire with the moon
At whose face I have spat into
To sing songs devoid of
The rhythm of love

The grey chambers of memory
It’s fading colours
Now ash, now black
Now…I do not know

I cannot separate your scream
From the wind’s guttural plea
At midnight,

Lend me a face that can laugh
Brother, happy you
Blind to the heap of masses
Catarrh blocks your nose to
The smell of putrescence I
Know
Lend me a mouth that can be quiet