Sirens of Jericho

I’m seething.

My skin is thin and blood peeks through the pores

Little volcanoes let escape the pain

the horror, the gore.

Running, red streaked

no one can stop me

spreading the word, a carmine peak

spreading red down the mountain

Gods above still watch in silent

mourning.

Follow the path of your people

all shades of red and brown

cadavers stumbling down

the valley’s peak.

The dead do not stay put

They dance and shriek

resistance colouring the brook

wine red.

We drink in the sorrow

tired hands to splash the face

drunk with rage,

A story of the ages.

Are they listening?

And if you hear the drums

of the apocalypse

Sirens of Jericho,

ears open and listening

I’ll promise to try and stop the bleeding.

But how long will we wait

for our promised hero,

with wide eyes open and pleading?

When the call of all worlds, torn open,

limb from limb,

Resound in every inch of silence.

When love and rage can no longer be severed

by distance and compliance.

about the poet

I am a 23-year-old queer poet and emerging artist of Indian-Kashmiri descent. My creative journey began since I could talk, but poetry came to me just as I entered a transformative period of rediscovering my voice. For me, poetry is as much a personal exploration as it is a spiritually tethered connection to the pulse of the collective; I write about the pain, the horror and tie it together with joyous resistance.