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1 vote, average: 3.00 out of 51 vote, average: 3.00 out of 51 vote, average: 3.00 out of 51 vote, average: 3.00 out of 51 vote, average: 3.00 out of 5
English Poetry

Drawing lines in imaginary spaces

Dividing all by the color of their faces

Their races, their language, where their space is

Does not matter if the line cuts through homes

The tomes that they read about God

That say draw a line,

Draw a sword,

Draw blood

Let it flood,

let each space be washed in red

The slaughtered heads which your lines create

Fate hangs in balance as with your HB2 Ajanta

You draw a line, so fine,

It’s only yours not mine

No rights, no left, no wrongs, no songs

No this, no that, no what, no ifs,

No buts, no whys

And then the darkening of the skies,

The Junes, the Julys

As people prepare to cross the line

You rant, with a map in hand

Showing them where they stand

As they huddle together inside a box

You said it was a shower

The power rests in your lies,

Your hand flicks the switch

You turn out the lights

Squeeze the fight out of them

As you turn on the gas.

an angry reaction to what is happening across the world – whether it be the persecution of jews in WWII as in the last line… or what we as humans continue to do – plundering and killing in the name of religion, or whatever justification fits the cause aptly… here’s to a better tomorrow – here’s to a better world – for our children…


  1. Gion Gion says:

    a great piece. Very impressed.

    • @Gion Gion, tx gion. It’s so easy for us to just make judgents, draw lines, make perceptions and we keep drawing lines to kill hack and ridicule. I changed my style in this poem as I see it as a performance piece that I cd say at a slam. And the anger comes out better in the stacatto form. And tx again

  2. rajdeep bhattacharya says:

    beautiful poem Anirban

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