roshan - dead

The light spoke but a few words, gently receding,

Into the refuge of the night.

Just a few drops of water nibbling at stagnant pools,

Melting the mud around them, guiding more into them.

A handful of brown dogs, wailing for their non-existent masters

Who slept peacefully, in the clutches of red light.


And around them there grew dead people,

Grinning and pointing at them.

Washing themselves in the shelter of murderers.

They slept peacefully, their eyes vibrating,

With subconscious shame.

And when they died, people talked well of them.

And when they died, the dogs got their share of them.


The evil die with their bones and the dogs forget their good.

And their bones forget them.


We escape daily, just before the moon appears,

Shielding our eyes from its blinding light.

Shuffling about in its blinding light.

Engaging with the dead, speaking to the dead.

The living disgusts us.

We have suffered in their sins and wept in their weakness.

The living seep into our homes, mutilating our homes.


Forget and forgive, dogs of the dead.

Consume their bodies, drink their lives.

And forget their lives and what they did.



Go home and boast to your bitch,

Say to her that you have lived.