ANANYA S GUHA tries to sing a song of stones
There are paths
strewn with stones.
Crush them, I mean
the stones. Hack and hew them.
I mean the paths.
For are not all paths sullied,
bloodied beyond recognition?
The lust of wars and insurrections
are a mania. Why blame paths?
The man on the roadside hewing stones
does not know what they mean.
Only opiate ornaments, so after cutting them
he can sleep? Eat a little, dream a little, fornicate- a little.
Women and children understand paths,
but what about stones, or the monolith
which overcomes them into shadows
Come let’s sing a song of stones.
And paths will follow to traverse
and to etch our names in black ink.