In the blanks of muddy moonlight
two happy shards of kill
sing like feathers in a wound, 
a child to a milking womb;
tonight there isn't a door that sleeps, and homes
close their blinds and draperies 
in fear that there will be more fear; more nights to hide
behind the barbed cables bulleting the sky 
sprouting fire and filthy rain that's rotten to the flesh.
Kneeling by the ledgers as the storm clouds gather
in between the umbrellas of bleeding soil and the earth,
bare hands collar a handful of sand, picking up
weapons as deadly as the sea: a pen,
a screaming voice
a paper piece. 
I want to be an eagle there
by the tombs freed immovable,
and cradle their carcasses,
rotting and orphaned by flickering street lamps
that glow low like spattered confetti, snow to the angels
hovering by the floating dust. Don't look out the windows!
You say, 
but how can we keep still?
How can we keep at all, 
from clawing out our hearts and laying it 
by the songless limbs on the ground
smeared so cold
by the reaper's feeding hand, lost in time 
forever
to the sounds of rising arms.

Snata Basu is a writer based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her poetry has appeared on numerous literary platforms including The Opiate, Visual Verse: An Online Anthology of Art and Words, and Small World City.