The Falcon Cannot Hear The Falconer

Tell me you falcon, O speak,
You constant traveller!
Which place on earth is worthy for breathing?
Ah! How often I’ve cursed those
Dictators who showed walking
Warriors the way to hell.

From here to there, from towns
To cities, from
Dawn of dreams to the dusk of sleep,
But one who suffered for years
From the slow poison,
One who was buried in the past
With the burden of future,
One who leaf through the youthful
Sufferings with busy hands, and each
Moment with fresh hope,
One whose grey days turned into
Colourless nights down the healing
Path of Phoebus.

Thus spake the Sophist of the
21st century with hands in the air;
Words joining and falling
Under useless sentences
Annoy me, still the one I hate
Most is the echo of his silent laugh,
Like a preposterous exaggeration of
Heavens’ beauty,
Look oh! Falcon, the sunlight is
Deceiving us,
In a world full of lost entrances,
Eyes still searching those
Roads of human kindness
Where Euphrates meet Ganges,
You’re no longer in the grasp
Of greedy shadows and clouds,
Like the birds that skimmed
Through passionate peaks,
With no wish, no hope,
No longing,
You are free to
Beat your wings against the
Thunder God, Indra.

Ask him how he destroyed
The reign of Vritra and brings
Rain of hope to the land,
Ask him to lend his Vajra,
Ask him to harvest hope
Beneath the oppressive air,
Ask him to release loyal
Comrades, to end this mystery
And open the box of Pandora.

NOTE: Title of the poem is taken from WB Yeats’ famous poem, “The Second Coming”.