By Goirick Brahmachari
“People who enjoy waving flags don’t deserve to have one” ― Wall and Piece, Banksy
Black, because it’s always dark outside
Red, because I bleed
White, because everyone seems angry here
Rainbow, as long as cheap poetry is not passed as art.
Pakistani, because Sain Zahoor fucks me up,
Bangladeshi – there, there, my roots lie,
Icelandic, for the music is high,
American, for the Delta Blues and Jazz and Beats and Dylan and Malcolm X and …
British, for Knopfler, if not Floyd.
Kashmiri, for every bite of an apple leaks blood
Afghani, just for that roti
Malian, because I love the sound of Kora
Assamese, because Bengalis hate them
Khasi, because memory haunts me.
Fire, because I want to burn all the flags.
Urine, because I’m hyper-sexual.
Poetry, because it can create a thousand winters on a hot arid summer’s day.
And music, because I do not want to live for long.
Goirick Brahmachari is a writer based in Dilli. He hails from Silchar, Assam.
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