Waiting for Exile

This scorching heat
Is not just the April sun
Hovering right above this cloudless island

The pressing air
Is not just the heavy breath
Of an erratic monsoon
Slapping us into a daze

This thunder is not the threatening
Voices I begin to hear
This lightning not the disappearing
Shadows of people who used to be
Now, mere ghosts
Of men who used to think different

This waiting is not
For leaving
This wishing is not
For a better day

This anger is not
For the waiting
But for the silence
Of broken glass and masses

When words must carry
The thunder and lightning
Of our days
The stones about to be hurled

When others tell me
I should leave
I stay


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