Liberated zone, Gujarat and the Pig's farm

For decades and decades
Genocide and foeticide
Like usual words on the newspapers
Printing, read away unnoticed like pepper
On breakfast plates
Of men who know no sweat.

The communists are turning into pigs
The pigs of the “Animal Farm”
Look at Nandigram
The pigs just sent the cadres like swan
To the land where the people have cried
Waiting for rain,
Cursing the piggy government
For being ignored
When the pigs wore
The tag “friends of the poor.”

Out of imitation
They fantasize of industrialization
Oh! Is that a civilization?
Or a definition of globalisation?
Oh your poor men needs no such piggy act
You will remain a scar in their lives
You will be remembered
When every peasant sings the harvest song

Inside the liberated zone,
People shiver with sweat
The Maoists knocks the door
Asking their sons to join the gun battle
In return the shivered hands hand out 500rs
When the shivered hands are paid
200rs per month.
At last with tears they depart their sons
To aim the Kalashnikovs down
At their own village
The cops are being ambushed
And left with words;
“It’s a war and forget winning,
We don’t even know how to fight it.”
The Maoists, they spell a true rebel
Still a threat to the poor men.
Some fled the camp and ran to Andhra
Where they worked as daily wager
They read of their own village being burnt
In the battle.
Boys with SLRs patrolling the streets
Where they should be playing cricket
Like every boys in the rest of country

(The above stanza is based on a recent article in Hindustan Times called 'Liberated Zone'. It is all about the truth and pain that the villagers suffer because of the Maoists. Most affected district of Chhattisgarh because of the rebels is Dantewada.)

The saffron turbaned man
Walking and preaching
The streets of Gandhi
Singing a lullaby to the ones
Who are already sleeping.

Gujarat! your priest Mr. Modi
Is not so Holy.
All he knows is playing Holi
With the mask he wears,
With your blood behind your veil

Gujarat, your fathers and mothers
Are resting looking at your colourful play.
On the red stained playground
You are sleeping after the play…
Don’t you smell blood?
Don’t the screams of death wake you up?
Don’t you feel the heat of the flame
That ceases yesterdays?

Oh! wake up before the preach baptize you.
Wake up! before they saffronize your thoughts.

Inside the stories, a story is still left to tell.
Underneath the ground a rusted needle is left,
A wrong foot will be pricked soon someday.
A flame in the middle is untouched and unseen
Its killing roar silences the passers by.


While the sun was setting,
With a little sweet song
A melancholic song without words
She was grooming herself
With a smile on her lip
With a lipstick
Like a painter
Sitting in front of a painting.

While the cattle were heading homeward
And the girls were fetching water
She was wearing flowers in her hair
With or without a care of the darkness
Ahead that evening…
The flowers became alive
As they knew it is what they are for

While the tear was brimming in my eyes
She changed
Transformed from my love of her
That I died and cried
To make her my love forever
She prided on it
Like a virgin bride

She walked away
That very evening
She sang away
That melancholic song in the crowd
Leaving me alone
With the emptiness in the mirror
In which she left her sweet little wordless song.
I found the words were I in the mirror.

While the stars were twinkling
I waited for the song again
I waited for her heels to clank the marble floor
I waited for a sound of her bangles
But all that I sensed was silence
All that gave me some warmth was my own tears

My butterfly, she flew away
Leaving me colour blind


All I want is a freedom
To walk without being stopped
Or questioned
From spring to autumn

All I want is a season
To be naked in the sun
Standing in the middle of road
Reciting my own poem of freedom

All I want is to roam free
In my own land or country
Without being asked my identity
Or about my insanity

All I want is you
To walk away packing your bags
Zipping your mouth
Unloading your guns

Go to the place
Where people have lived their lives
Where they tell a good history to innocent sons
Where they pity us for being what we are…

They have worn our skin
In television, in newspapers and in books
With our broken hearted mothers
With flames that rose from every streets of my land

All I want is my poor men
Writing their own song to sing
Farming their own land to harvest
Bringing up the kids to plough the history

All I want is a good history to start
I have heard enough of rivers crying
I have found enough of death to live again
I have tried enough to rise, let me rise

She (fades)

Nights after nights
Dreams slip away from her sleep
all that remains are black and white
silent and motionless dream
the body aches in her sleep
the shoulder cups those strange chins
tears fighting against the sweats
but defeated hundred times
it just falls on the innocent face
stained with the smell of stink breaths
she serves with tears and her body
while the priest serves with words
she is crucified on her bed
with her yellow blouse open
while Jesus is scented with flowers
and with rich men's wives inside the church

She was left alone
when the world celebrated
its globalisation
they will be her company again
when there is a storm inside them
when no hands know how to grab the dicks
when no site seeing glitters their eyes
And so she waits for a good meal
without a smile on her lips
without hunger to survive any longer
but with tears spreading her world
where rich men drown....

funeral of ronid

I went to the funeral of my friend;
the soldiers were shooting in the air
perhaps they were aiming at his soul
which broke free from being victim
still they were not leaving him
the trumpets were soaring high
the drums were banging
his daughter was confused
whether to mourn or get away
from the devil eyes
His wife in white in tears
rolling and tossing on the ground
like she had been forced
oh! there is no such pain like death
to whom you love when you die..

“not the pictures,
not the memories
just take me along as i am
Oh! my love! my man!
take me with you
take me as i am. ”