Perhaps, death could melt
Ideologies and its clutches
Like a glacier in severe summer
Melts and turns itself into a
Cool river and tumbles down
The heat of life could transform
Old hatred and the strength of beliefs.
When a poet dies
Nature would stand still;
Birds would cease singing
And the hunter would withdraw the arrows
Words trickling out of thousand tongues
Would flow from innumerable eyes.
Like the smile of a blind
Who has been marooned
In the island of darkness
Those who have eyes would
See the soul of the poet.
When a painter disappears
Into his painting made out of memories
The colors would run
Along the streets like blood
And perhaps would touch
His mother’s toes
And it could spread like a scream
In the front pages of newspapers.
His smile could stick on
To the threshold of a night
Where a dream waits for the
Invitation of one who is deprived of sleep.
But on whose death news is that a city
Stands still and covers itself in
A Shroud of fear and anxiety?
Why should the unknown lives of the refugees
Stand on their knees before
The cruel swords of arrogance?
When did it become a rule
That when big trees fall
The small ones should get crushed?
Why should the edifices in a city burn
And the fetuses in a womb fry
When a lonely tree in a wasteland
Is being felled by nothing but death?
Let those Neros play their mandolins
Let those lovers elope to safe abodes
Why should we crucify a people
Only because we have got a cross?
Let all those rich and famous
Stand in a queue while their
Feet plunge into the muck of ideologies.
Let them write scriptures
On the petals of marigold flowers
Let them cut down a sandal wood forest
To prepare your pyre for special fragrance.
But please do not send your comrades
With petrol bombs to my crystal clear thoughts.
Be the ‘deathless’ and the eternal one
By ingesting the pills like the ones
That postpones menstruation at will.
But please don’t erase a people
Like a wrong line in a cartoon
With a piece of eraser of your whimsies.