Fires and Ashes

A Series Poem

Fires and Ashes-1

Our struggles
Are

Burnt alive

And ashes bear them in their fertile belly


We the offspring of
Ashes



We
The mere ashes
Sing the song of fire

Running in the roads
Sleeping in the houses

Missing in the jungles
Crying in the hearts

Grinding in the workplace


Ashes are always loved by fires


Our sultry bloods
Are soaked by
The ashes of our forgetful histories



As the motions stop at a standstill

Poor ashes are loitering in the market
In fear of motions



Matured smokes
Risen from dull ashes

Bite the naive thoughts



They are scared of this eerie brightness

Of this hasty century

That is swallowed stealthily by
A dark night



I can see
Fire

Inside ashes



Ashes of your forgetting, remembrance

And dreams


Ashes

Of your being


Fires and Ashes -2

Ash is important



As every fire
Is
Succeeded by

Ash

Fires and Ashes -3



Ashes don’t speak
To all



They speak a lot

About

The fire


Which generates them



Fires and Ashes -4



Ash

Is the metamorphosis of fire

So
Fire=Ash

Ash=Fire



Ashes are dangerous, too

Fires and Ashes -5



Fires burns the wood

Fire is now dead



Still, wood of greed burns

With flares of
Absence of fire


Ash burns the wood
Fire is not dead

Dark woods
Survive
Only to be burnt

Again and again

Fires and Ashes -6



They are angry

They are badly
Annoyed by upsurge of fire



They don’t like fire

They like kicking the ass of fire

But they can’t

They kick the ash

Instead
 Fires and Ashes- 7
 Pull out

Tongue of fire
 And presume

That fire can neither speak

Nor eat
Nor vomit

But
What will happen to them


From now onwards

If fire start speaking, eating and vomiting

Through the mouths of

Ash?
 Fires and Ashes- 8



I’m nothing

But dusts

I want to
Create

Fire

I want to

Love

Fire

I’m nothing

But dusts

Of continuous ashes
Of my squirmy time

Wrinkles of History

There are
Wrinkles


On the face of your history
On the face of my history

And we were born
Inside those wrinkles of our histories

We reside like hungry parasites


In the slums
Of history’s old body

We consume slang living with our cheap wine

We
Are
Alienated
But alive


Wait
History has not come to an end
It has just begun:
What’s inside your mind?

From within the Pores

From within the Pores


From within the pores
Of time

Come out
Hands
Machines

Heads

They have been pushed up
By those
whose names
Are not written in history


They don’t have name
They are people