Sunday Poem By Jhilam Adhikary

Tiny Still

Tiny still, when I first saw it
No wind messing the buildings, the trees
If it did though, I wouldn’t see
For the windows are closed for eternities.
But today, a little peep for a change
In the wild windy rain,
And the flower on my window sill, danced for me
A flowery wildness on the old cement
That I’m so used to see,
A speck of pink on a dull grey sea;
Wild flowers claiming
The rumblings of ruined cities;
Little ants, long lines of red armies
Ready to charge on their few huge enemies:
The lines are getting longer, their fierce strength too
And soon, all that stands on the way, shall go down for good.
The crows and sparrows of the city gardens,
Have gone to hibernate, but they shall return again
For the winter will end someday and the spring will come
Now all that’s left is a revolution, a tiny one:
A personal world war for every human,
Liberation isn’t just an online slogan
Liberation is a battle for every human
For the body itself, for mental health, for lost self respect.
Patriarchy, toxicity won’t end by itself,
But this tiny flower on my sill, so proudly yells,
Even the tiniest being if stands up and rebels
Every law of the society will tumble down
Like this old crumbling cement
And every human shall win the war for themselves
And every body ever born shall be free from evil.