Red Moon

Toil, for you cant find relief
In the drunk-evening songs
Your mates sing by the mejhi;
Bound yourself in knots,
As irregular migrants filter
through government offices
Sweat, salt, skin:
Opium-feckled eyes.
Hold,the reins of your desire
On xewali-fragrant autumn dusks;
No point venturing out
Into the cold-blooded dwellings
of security posts
Only the half-dead roam
the curfewed streets
On nights like these.

Notes:

mejhi: a traditional bon-fire lit mostly during the Assamese festival of Magh Bihu in January.
xewali: (Assamese word) an edible flower, also called, night-flowering jasmine.

You need an infinite stretch of time ahead of you to start to think, infinite energy to make the smallest decision. The world is getting denser. The immense number of useless projects is bewildering. Too many things have to be put in to balance up an uncertain scale. You can't disappear anymore. You die in a state of total indecision.

- Jean Baudrillard