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Jan 142011
 

by Subhakar Das

you could hear voices

in the wind

people weeping

some whispering


we thought it was

the trees making

small talk

until they found the bodies

three men

hands tied behind

their backs, gags

in their mouths

breeding maggots,

eyes gouged out

and gunshots wounds

like sacred tilaks

on their foreheads.


You can still hear the voices

but the wind doesn’t blow

that way no more.