You
can kill us but you can’t destroy us
For
you will pass
And
we’ll rise.
You
can crush us down, tear us to pieces
Under
the clattering tracks of your monster tanks
Their
barrels like bars across the prisoning sky.
You
can cut us down, under your bulldozer blades
As
you cut down the orchards and break down the walls
You
can make us bleed as easily
As
you can make the children cry.
All
that is in your power. Killing is what you do
Death
is what you bring with you,
Skull-face
leering over your shoulder,
Exulting.
Death,
dressed in a business suit,
Death,
dressed in uniform.
We
have no defence against death.
Yes
you can kill us a thousand times, in a thousand ways.
You
can shoot us and bomb us, burn us and strangle us
You
can erase all we know and loved
But
you can’t destroy us.
No,
because time is on our side
And
though you crush us down
You,
too will pass, and once more, we’ll rise.
You
will consume yourself, in your fury
One
day you will be gone,
And
we’ll rise.
Like
grass from the ground in spring, like clouds in the sky
Like
the phoenix from the ashes
Once
again, we’ll rise.
The
earth will still go around the sun
When
you’re gone
The
world will still know sorrow and joy
When
you’re gone
The
moon will wax and wane, the tides will rise and fall
And
we will arise, we will walk tall
After
you’re gone.
There
will be no tanks then, no guns no bombs
No
drones flying up in the skies.
Just
me, he, she, we together
From
the funeral pyre of your ambitions
From
the wreckage of your cruelty
Kill
us, trample us down a hundred thousand times
Like
laughter after sorrow, like today gives way to tomorrow
From
your hate and your burning fire
Like a comet turning sunwards
Once
more, we’ll rise.
Copyright B Purkayastha 2012
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ReplyDeleteSo, the Frost is white on the ground, is it? Nice to meet you, and welcome.
DeleteBill, this should be a song, either in classical Indian carnatic style, or Metal. I guess I know which genre you prefer...
ReplyDeleteInteresting you should say that. I'm tone-deaf, but I was thinking in terms of a simple repetitive rhythm, more like a ballad than anything. I rather rarely listen to my own writing playing in my head.
DeleteThis portion reminds me very much of T.S. Eliot's "The Hollow Men":
ReplyDelete"Death, dressed in a business suit,
Death, dressed in uniform."
I'd better read that. I haven't read much Eliot outside Murder In The Cathedral.
Delete