I Cannot Hear

Leaves crashing into the teacups of colors

Air is settling down

Animals slumbering and abused in the city

While accidents were making love with life

I was asked to sing

When my voice was raped by generations of violence

I was asked to sing.

I sang.

I still fight with the teacups, the colors

The Love who is diseased and quiet and dead (maybe)

It’s the era of stigmas and shame and slaughter

I fight with the anatomy of my body

The frozenness of it whispers –

I cannot hear.

The abstractions fail,

As if a cloud is rejected by the sky.

The corpses walking on the pavements

I look into their eyes

They speak

I cannot hear.