When My Haemoglobin Rusts

I don’t know if I love the canopy of god’s umbrella

more than the vanity of metropolis, that one day

would fall when my haemoglobin rusts.

breathing soil crystallises with my delicate touch,

mustard pods mature with my adrenaline rush.

.

I know there’s a spark in me but is it burning my

thoughts into ashes or flaring my hopes to fight

the world when my haemoglobin rusts.

everyone admires moon’s borrowed charm that

breaks lucid dreams and hides the craters.

.

these beautiful ghosts who hide in cracked walls

and their tears stain the marble floor would

disappear in memories when my haemoglobin rusts.

though my eyes reflect their spirited days, my feet

falter when i try to walk on their domains.

.

does the earth follow me to my room or is it

the smoke gifted by the steel livestock that

would depurate when my haemoglobin rusts.

my heart sinks in the marsh of fervent believes,

can the strings of copper protect me?

.

are the scars on my body a souvenir of my forefathers’

sacrifices or just cicatrix of my mistakes that

would stay even after my haemoglobin rusts.

would I be one of those great men,

or a mere knot in the tangled threads?

.

immune my body against these nosocomial pathogens,

cleanse my tissues from the infection they’ve caused,

save my cells from these metastasised devils.

operate on my brain but don’t wash it white,

remove the tumour and stitch my skin with fibula.

.

my limbs feel numb; say it’s because of anaesthesia,

’causei’m afraid of post-operative dyskinesia.

my eyes are too sensitive to light and too poor to see in dark;

buoyant rays burn my tears and promises trigger my fears.

.

let the adrenaline rush in my veins as my arteries are blocked.

let me breathe carbon; my lungs are prepared for holocaust,

but i won’t bleed to life because my blood has rusted.

peel off my skin and you’ll find I’m just like you 

don’t show mercy then, karma will strike you.

By: Tushar Mandhan