My Forgotten Tribe
By Rahil Asif
Loathing in the sky, sleeping in the midst
Alone, the clouds are!
Someone, who breathes deep whilst,
Holding his soul, way too far,
He creates an engraved slave
With naked skin, of his only grave!
His tears, his emotions
Seep through the clouds,
His hand, full of bloodily demotions
His soul, covered in multiple shrouds
The road, which lies with deceased
Carries itself, with someone’s feast!
He sees a bird, with no wings
He senses the sky, with no essence
He lifts his hand, and later swings
Down below the gravel, lies his negligence
Calling for its taming, calling to sacrifice
The only one, with the word called ‘vice’
The sun is gone
The rain has succumbed,
Nothing goes past the dawn
But the only one, who’s summoned!
The rock awaits, awaits his arrival
To hear the only story, of his survival.
Look, the haven calls him
The way he builds his thought,
Around his only act of hymn
Lays his head, dead and caught.
Finally, he wakes to resist and inscribe
The leftovers of my forgotten tribe!
Rahil Asif is a poet, essayist and travel writer from New Delhi, India. He has professional experience as a content analyst with an Australian firm and is also a post-graduate in English literature. He has been penning poetry, which talks about realization, for more than 5 years under the concept of “the 21st hour”. Both the published poems fall under “The 21st Hour” Concept. Follow him at www.the21sthour.com