3 poems - aranya
“I do not know what darkness awaits us now. will they turn entire cities into fortresses? the streets are murky mazes now. policemen running with helmets in their hands, and tear gas cannisters under their elbows are regular sights now. We meet each other only in protests. Resistance is a nightmare that we are breathing together. but also a dream.
this city is smoke, cigarrete smoke, smog, dust, tear gas smoke. this translucent lie that shrouds the uncertain resilience of the people on the street is wearing thin. is the sunrise near?
I am reminded today of Macbeth:
’Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No, this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.’
You have blood on your hands.” - aranya, Dec. 20th '19