We’ve broken their statues.

We’ve driven them out of their temples.

We’ve burned their holy words.

But still they are alive –

Still in love with this land,

Their souls still bewitch us,

Shaking us with wanting & fear.


During the wake of the dawn,

Our lives seem potent with their lives;

& sometimes old ethereal figures,

Indistinct & innocuous,

Rapid in flight,

Wing across the nearby hills,

Featherlike & soft,

Bright yellow & red,

Outshining the flickering sun,

Our heads with sandbag they stun.


Twitter @bibek_writes


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