Where Do We Go?
Dante in his Hell
Had nine circles
For the damned.
Here the number is twenty two, Inverted, going up into the sky, Arranged in a building painted The color of shit.
Here old crawl up the death spiral, And the young begin to swell up With the seeds of despair.
Look at Mother! How beautiful She is in the candle light! How tasty this meal will be Salted with her fresh tears!
Look up and you will see Vultures circling, circling. Look deep into these eyes To hear songs still unsung. So let's join them and sing.
Few lines in response to, and for, Tatiana Cardeal's striking photographs on Prestes Maia.
Image-ned Word
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Tum Pukar Lo Tumhara Intezar Hai - Gulzar
Call on me, for I wait
to hear your call,
while night selects dreams
for the restless night
in which I wait for your call.
My lips should keep chanting These phrases of heartache, tell me for how many more insomniac nights? What phrases, you ask? “I love you. I wait for you.”
And the heart has to be distracted with the thought that my sorry state is, perhaps, yours too, on such nights of disunity waiting for unity.
Call for me.
Translated from the Hindustani, approximately
Translations
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