As I walked along the blood-stained path
Recollecting thoughts and sights I had seen,
Memories of the worst came back to me
From the hell where I had been.
The harsh, cold wind made me heavily shudder.
The horrifying images of women and children
Being made to work mercilessly in factories
And those sold and purchased in slave markets
Bled my heart and made me cry
As I looked onto the celestial abode,
The vast, endless sky.
But no rays of sunshine did I see above,
Of peace, no sight nor scope.
Only dark clouds of hatred and brutality,
Shadowing my hope.
I stared into the vast horizon,
A vast spectre of persecution and viciousness
Lay shrouded in a deathly insipid mist,
Faraway affliction shattering the silence.
Someday, the skies will open up I thought,
The people will get awakened,
The sufferers shall recount and avenge
All the vindictiveness inflicted on them.
So shall dawn the historic day
So shall the Armageddons arise.
The tormented shall rise from their deplorable conditions
To hear their tormentors’ cries.
And so shall end the heart-wrenching brutality
And so shall end the traumatic period of imperialism
Which now lies engulfed in dread.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Monday, June 8, 2009
....AT CROSSROADS
If you stood facing death, what would be one thing, when you look back in those fleeting moments in time, that you would remember the most? The endless fights you had with your childhood friends? The teenage rebellion and aggression which often made you think about the world in disgust? The clueless adulthood which came and went by in a flash? The corporate power plays?
As I stand on the cusp of time and change, embracing limitless possibilities and opportunities, I am reminded of a childhood spent in the most secure environs on the planet. When the mother’s voice seemed like a sparkling stream and the end of the saree when above my head seemed heavenly. When the sound of the ghungroo never ceased to fade and the myriad customs were filled with joys and cries. When the backyard forever buzzed with people and grandparents shared priceless wisdom.
As time passed, all of it had to be forgotten. As I got sucked in the vortex of competition, often straying away from the values imbibed, another face of the world revealed itself. Where everyone waits for a single mistake made by the other only to tear him into shreds; where the world wakes up to the news of terror and tragedy; where people have shielded themselves against the capacity to feel for the downtrodden.....This is how far we have come.
While all of us have had our fair share of both the good and the bad, some memories vividly remembered till yesterday, now seem lost and vaguely remembered. Winnowing the painful from the good has never been an easy task. Vignettes have been interwoven in infinite intricate threads, difficult to conceive them as separate entities.
As I stand at the crossroad facing death, I envision being lowered down to my final resting place where I shall return to the soil of my beloved motherland.
As I stand on the cusp of time and change, embracing limitless possibilities and opportunities, I am reminded of a childhood spent in the most secure environs on the planet. When the mother’s voice seemed like a sparkling stream and the end of the saree when above my head seemed heavenly. When the sound of the ghungroo never ceased to fade and the myriad customs were filled with joys and cries. When the backyard forever buzzed with people and grandparents shared priceless wisdom.
As time passed, all of it had to be forgotten. As I got sucked in the vortex of competition, often straying away from the values imbibed, another face of the world revealed itself. Where everyone waits for a single mistake made by the other only to tear him into shreds; where the world wakes up to the news of terror and tragedy; where people have shielded themselves against the capacity to feel for the downtrodden.....This is how far we have come.
While all of us have had our fair share of both the good and the bad, some memories vividly remembered till yesterday, now seem lost and vaguely remembered. Winnowing the painful from the good has never been an easy task. Vignettes have been interwoven in infinite intricate threads, difficult to conceive them as separate entities.
As I stand at the crossroad facing death, I envision being lowered down to my final resting place where I shall return to the soil of my beloved motherland.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
PARISHES OF MY MOTHERLAND
As the smell of the harvested crop
Wafts across the landscape
Somewhere, far away
A gunshot shatters the silence.
As the heart of an Indian village bleeds
Another village celebrates.
The cries of the dead farmer’s family
Are drowned in another’s prosperity, success and hardwork.
As the ravines stretch for miles together
And the lands cry out for liberation
Morgues get filled, bodies decay
With no place left to bury them.
As the debt rises
Many others take the drastic step.
Names of the dead are noted
And are thus, lost in the pages of history, forever.
Two sides of a village
Exists in India.
One that celebrates the good growth of crops
Another that mourns the death of farmers.
One that produces aplenty
Another that is plagued with famines.
One that performs customs, rights and rituals
To appease the Gods
Another that lights the pyres of the dead.
Wafts across the landscape
Somewhere, far away
A gunshot shatters the silence.
As the heart of an Indian village bleeds
Another village celebrates.
The cries of the dead farmer’s family
Are drowned in another’s prosperity, success and hardwork.
As the ravines stretch for miles together
And the lands cry out for liberation
Morgues get filled, bodies decay
With no place left to bury them.
As the debt rises
Many others take the drastic step.
Names of the dead are noted
And are thus, lost in the pages of history, forever.
Two sides of a village
Exists in India.
One that celebrates the good growth of crops
Another that mourns the death of farmers.
One that produces aplenty
Another that is plagued with famines.
One that performs customs, rights and rituals
To appease the Gods
Another that lights the pyres of the dead.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
YVONNE
As she stood near the lounge door, wearing a gorgeous white blouse and a pair of blue jeans, I stood at one corner of the room, mesmerized by her beauty....
Her melodious, lilting voice floated like sweet symphonies in the air, drowning the cacophony of voices. Her tantalizing perfume which wafted across the room made nerve endings tingle. Her luscious black hair danced as she swiveled her head.
As I stood rooted to the ground, unable to take my eyes off her, she passed out of the lounge door, leaving behind an aura of tension, fire and effervescence....
Her melodious, lilting voice floated like sweet symphonies in the air, drowning the cacophony of voices. Her tantalizing perfume which wafted across the room made nerve endings tingle. Her luscious black hair danced as she swiveled her head.
As I stood rooted to the ground, unable to take my eyes off her, she passed out of the lounge door, leaving behind an aura of tension, fire and effervescence....
Sunday, May 10, 2009
FAR FROM THE URBAN CHAOS
As I stand on the edge of a massif
Oblivious of time, the sky, moon and earth
The distance between ephemerality and death fades
As I look down at the prodigious ocean below.
The illusion of being segregated from mankind evaporates.
The endless skies above, the shimmering water below
Are in perfect concord;
Untouched, untroubled by the urban chaos.
Oblivious of time, the sky, moon and earth
The distance between ephemerality and death fades
As I look down at the prodigious ocean below.
The illusion of being segregated from mankind evaporates.
The endless skies above, the shimmering water below
Are in perfect concord;
Untouched, untroubled by the urban chaos.
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