Once I heard from dadiji The tragic tale of Indo-pak Which I define a deep dive communal rage During her childhood days, made it bitter. Slowly began the rise of British empire In the seventeenth century. Ample wealth of Hindustan Silks, spices and so on and so forth. Higher taxes and larger trades moving to England.
We indians could be different yet got united. Hindus and muslims, Brahmins and dalits, Whites and blacks, Nationalists and liberals, Men and women We weighed trust on each other In the battle against the British, Against chivalry and slavery they are known for.
Blood smeared battlefields Hours of martyrs in the pool of blood Sheer cry of revolts and rebellions alarmed Like pulling the strings of an instrument India was in the hands of the great Britain. At last left the Bharat, Marred with extreme poverty and famine. Seeing the soil eroding under their feet Sowed a seed of hatred between us.
That was a monsoon, grey dark broken clouds Poured rain upon them Perhaps another attempt To amalgamate streams of tears. Divided hindus and muslims to tore us apart Like a barrier the border was born And the hatred had grown Finally did she truly celebrate the freedom From the British crown at the stroke of midnight ?
Verily millions moving towards the border Like the lament of fallen feathers. They looked like homeless dead bodies Collapsed into a distant dawn With frozen fingers and measureless sorrow. Came the next shocking news Baba lost his job in a factory in Delhi Identifying him a muslim, Was told to get the next train from India to Pakistan.
That was when birds seek shelter, A poor woman with a rich heart Carrying a child left at birth Hummed in a low tune To steer clear of purple crying. That was when a boy seemed to be five Sipping the last drop in a bottle. Neither radiance of the big orange sun sinking Nor monsoon flowers were embraced on that day.
Indian by birth Widow of my Pakistani dadaji said Desires have no borders She sings urdu and writes hindi Yet voice injured by the inhaled past Of divided soil of forefathers Parted love, abandoned houses, empty pockets Tears welled up and lungs choked. Whom to blame the fate ? freedom either.
Even broken glass bangles of raped girls And the telephone box resided In a corner of the post office in Witnessed the grieving mothers over dead bodies. The curse of evil enveloped us, And yet, not healed Unseen wounds and unspoken tales, Concealed beneath the duppatta From the disturbed peace to the shattered dreams.
The migratory birds in the darkest of all hours Unquestionably strange in our own land. To the mothers of missing children in mining To the brothers who were separated during partition To the beloveds of freedom fighters died in prisons To the daughters suffered abduction and mutilation Still memories bleeding in the twenty first century. The bond formed decades back can't be that weak Though here is a moment to poetic justice!
This one's a bit older, figured I should probably post my older stuff before posting too much more of my newer stuff lol.
Less commonly used words (to spare anyone having to look them up): Murder - A flock of crows Mirth - amusement/joy, especially expressed through laughter. Dirge - a funeral song; a lament for the dead, particularly used in a funeral rite.
Autumn leaves are refugees Like my depressed grandfather And diabetic grandmother Who fled to turn fresh green hue Into painterly tinctures Without a compass or map When the autumnal sunshine Grows shorter and Fall embraces withered leaves.
Suffocating somewhere, Where I could not escape from Dwelling there for many a time Gazing at the thatched Roofs of mud hut. My four year Baha Asked tears in eyes, What is the color of hunger ? Perhaps darker than black Or brighter than blue!
When hues left art Sugar maples, aspen and Russet leaves in heap Listening to the tales of Starving humans and empty pockets Awaiting companions to fall off Swore the art to turn into dust!