Cease the Greedy Knives : Palash Mahmud
Cease the Greedy Knives by Palash Mahmud When the sun has scratched a ring of fire up in the air Down here the whistling woods are burning and blare. The more the greener the grasses, the most the deepest The sighs fusing with spouting smokes that are thickest. When the moon has dropped melting lights down the river Up there the carnival of breath ends in death and dare. The less the size the more the numbers, the less the cruel The more the wounds making the landscapes a charcoal. Yet not we compel the wind to pause the raging line Not even we plead the water not to flush the bristlecone pine. Alas! we are in competition to outnumber moneys than leaves We fail to force the gods, the kings to cease the greedy knives. At last we have made our own hell sitting on a throne of spike At least the woods, the roots know how the hell looks like.