Borderline
At the line that divides nations,
And brothers, from their land of birth;
Stand two identical platforms,
Of equal height and girth.
On these concrete slabs are shared:
In peacetime, festivities;
But during war, they often bear,
The bodies of the enemy.
Borders Through Brothers
Is this soil red?
Or simply blood- soaked?
Is it yours, that tree?
Or does it belong to me?
That blade of grass must be mine!
Look at how it shines!
Even the sky above our heads,
Must be divided and shared!
May the victor take all the clouds,
You can have all the heat.
May the rain feed my earth,
While dust rises at your feet.
So what, if we look the same?
Speak in familiar tongues and share names?
How We Are Now
No masks we wear,
And hold no pretense.
The last two years,
Are evidence,
Of who we are,
Who we strive to be,
Of love and camaraderie.
Of shared experiences and memories.
Of our own collective histories.
Our various shades,
Will merge as one,
When farewell dawns.
And the year is done.
Ghumayee
From a northern state,
Of disarray,
Born a piece of wonder-
A worldwide play!
The premise is simple:
To live with her spouse,
A bride leaves home,
For his ancestral house.
A journey so arduous
For water she thirsts
Her husband proves
He'll stand for better, not worse.
A lowly worker
Takes the risk:
To save her life,
He loses his.
A laden message,
Across nations known
In a world so uncertain,
Whom do we call our own?
To the Edge of Our Earth
At dawn we walked,
Along a road;
That divided fields,
Of green and gold.
Rising through the misty haze,
In the distance, loomed a tree;
Holding our enchanted gaze,
A subdued sun traced every leaf.
A bitter chill ran down our spines,
Not of the cold that numbed our hands;
As we approached the very edge,
Of our country's protected land.
The Weary Traveller
A clear night sky,
Dotted by a million stars.
Closer home, the snow masks.
Another million battle scars.
No flames nor food could provide,
Solace to those weeping eyes.
Nor protection from the biting wind,
That chills his soul from within.
Winter Night at Kudh
The earth is dressed,
In glorious white.
The moon hangs high,
But lends no light.
Trees brace themselves,
Against the cold;
Of a bitter winter,
Six decades old.
Jallianwala Baug, 2012
This is where, our patriots fled,
This is where, they died;
This is where, another squirrel,
Delights another child.
The bullet holes are marked with chalk,
The bushes spout their floral blooms,
The air is filled with idle talk,
And pairs of lovers swoon.
A well of rotting garbage stands,
With a lurid blue fence around,
While people push through the crowd,
To gawk where hundreds drowned.
Pictures of the past bring back,
A thousand hurtful memories.
The present proves a severe lack,
Of decorum and decency.
Hope Springs Anew
Their houses shelled,
Their destroyed lives,
Their orphaned children,
And distraught wives.
Their weeping daughters,
And broken sons,
Their air so ripe,
With the sound of guns.
The news has spread,
Those words are true.
But, don't you know?
Hope springs anew.
The land's been scoured
Of the stains of blood.
The tyrant army's footprints,
Now erased with mud.
The dust has settled.
The cobble stones laid.
The cries are muffled.
The dues are paid.
Yet the papers reek of violent crimes,
Of vacant eyes and disturbed times.
While green shoots squeeze through the ground,
And tremors of triumph are felt all around.
The fear-filled sky is changing hue.
For don't you know?
Hope springs anew.
Bare Your Soul
Talk to me of love and life,
Simple pleasures, private strife,
Of bristling anger, unfounded joy,
And all the tools that you employ,
To get through this world of lies.
Talk to me of hopes and dreams,
Silent prayers and wordless screams,
Shattered illusions and broken hearts,
And exactly how you play your part,
In this world of everchanging masks.
