THE DEATH OF HOME

What 
Is this stagnation I see?

Where 
Did the vultures come from?

We open up our mouths

And 
Beg our own dogs 
To 
Spit in them

Gather up dust
 And 
Throw it

In the corners 
of 
Our eyes

And tomorrow 
We turn around 
And 
Point our lean fingers

Towards history 
that has forgotten itself

Eager to tell tales 
Of accusation…
Blaming

The very wedding party 
We sent invites to

We pull out our lips 
And get them pointed 
Sharp

To pierce 
Through songs, 
Words, 
Acts

That create
 A larger vacuum

Don’t you know

That 
The predators sense 
The darkness?

The one who
Sets the trap 
Cannot be blamed much

It is the greediest 
Among the mice 
That gets itself caught

Let me have my say

Let me talk of the beams 
In our eyes

Crimes we have hid

Decaying truths

That we refuse to preserve

Enough of it!

You sadden me 
With pointless dilly-dallying

Tears 
Trickle down 
My ashen face

Gripped with genuine fear

Of the vultures from 
Our own backyards

There's a center

And 
I’m locked in it

All options are bitter

The strangers 
Are after me

I can’t go there
But...

I can’t 
Go home 

Because last night...

Last 
Night... 
You and I 
With our own hands

Took Home 
Up 
To the ceiling

And dropped her

She broke

Into tiny, 
Microscopic, 
Pieces

Together, 
my people
Together, 
We slaughtered her

So don’t stand there

And give that speech

Don’t sing that song

That continues to blame

And forgets to answer

The questions
 Home screams at us....

From her grave