Anatomy

Finally getting a break from my busy life,
I survey the scars on the corpse before me
to trace how death travelled through,
the roads and veins it conquered.

Was this limb wrenched apart by birds and trees
in a desperate attempt to survive?
Was this arm twisted into submission
by words in some ancient book?

Did these fingers reach out to some hope
in a founding manuscript of justice?
Was the skin flogged by a mob’s mortal lash?
Was the mouth gagged to mute frantic protests?

Did the rock-weight of angry gods crush the heart?
Did the face get scorched by searing acid?
Did the stomach shrivel with penniless starvation?
Did the eyes agitate without hope of survival?

Or did my silence-
become the noose that choked the neck?
Do I perform the last rites of my dead nation
with the same silent hope of resurrection?