Anonymous Mounds of Earth

When the fearless sun finally rose,

The children had started playing

Hide and seek among the graves of

The nameless dead,

Pretend guns blazing above

Bullet-ridden castrated dead lying below

Their fingernails peeled off, Thumbs chopped

liked shawl-weavers burdened with taxes

You could tell in the mellow morning,

Where the dead lay,

Their Clotted blood had mixed into the clay

Their graves marked by blood red irises in

A sea of whites, their lives turned into

Weeds that lay unattended among little

Tin boards proclaiming random numbers assigned

By the lonely grave digger who never knew them

In between widows crying over the wrong graves

And mothers hugging the anonymouss mounds of earth,

The mountains echo with the sacrilegious mirth of

Children playing hide and seek among the nameless

Dead, tempting fate, biding time till they grow-up

And disappear like, others before, among the

nameless dead

(For Showkat Nanda)

* More than 2,000 corpses, believed to be victims of Kashmir's long-running conflict, have been found buried in dozens of unmarked graves.

Comments

FULCRUM IAS said…

Wallah, Aga Shahid Ali would be so proud of you (and may be a bit scared)

February 17, 2017 at 8:04 PM

The Empty Apartment

I draw a deep breath, An empty chair sits in the corner Hastily scribbled notes scattered Around the desk, abandoned Like lilacs in battle filed Wandering eyes rest among the Clumped clothes, a black sequined Scarf pokes pathetically from Among the ruins of our lives, Staring at me, accusing me A half-eaten apple still Sits on the top the fridge, next To the owl totems from the time We visited the dead shaman, You used believe in -- The movers are here, Walking up the narrow stairs Stomping feet leaving shoe marks, You so hate, across the Floor, Our floor The empty boxes laid in front of me Forcing decisions I never wanted To make, what to keep and what To ditch, how much luggage to leave For the insidious new occupants -- Tz

Some Other Time

We will be counting days again, till we say hello again— only for us to say goodbye again. We always knew we’d have to say our goodbyes one day. Then why does it hurt so? Even so, when we know it won’t be long before even goodbyes are a luxury. We cling to hopes— that this isn’t the only life we will live. That one day, we will meet again, in some other life, in some other time, where we won’t have to say G oodbye.

Zulaikha’s Lament

Blotted and Stained Like blood on apples, My reputation remains in tatters After these years But what was a woman to do? -- He had the face of An angel His shoulders, A sculptors dream His eyes, spoke a million languages his lips, like daggers driven apart -- I grew outside of Cairo Unloving father and sad mother Sold me for a goat and A bag of gold To the first merchant who They came across -- My Husband, Kind, Generous man Made me his wife And put me along with Thirteen others -- My Husband, Kind Generous man Kept me happy Visited me twice a month Blessing me with His drunken kisses and Impotent rage -- I was never sad What more could A woman want? Lots of wealth and An impotent husband Sex was a chore The price of being so glad -- Then he came Chained and covered with dust Another man from the Slave traders den He stood at the gate Neither sad nor in jest Even at a distance...

Tasenda

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