By Abul Kalam Azad
(For Teesta and Kalburgi)
A forest,
in cruel unrest.
Saffron horned cows
rage from dead rainbows
beneath the sky
burning the nests of pigeons
hiding in the womb of love
charred wings float mid-air
like missives of mourning
from the poets of the past
Snakes
with fangs shaped like spears,
like trishuls cloaked in court orders
sneak through open doors
stinging sharp
the eyes of rats
armed only with words,
and the slogans of the weak,
those fragile weapons of dying armies
Wolves,
with patriarchal paws,
mark their power
over the bodies
of the deers
with the tyranny of their teeth
over the lives of their kids
snatched before conceived
rusting leaves of the autumn
weeping in the flames of dead foetuses,
hoping
those tears might wash away
at least,
the memories of these wounds . . .
A forest,
in cruel unrest.
who shall recite these tales we detest?
who shall carry the skeletons in this closet?
whose lids shall bear
the dream of justice on this sleepless night?
whose palms shall nurse
the fallen roses of departed gardens?
some leaves,
scattered across forests,
drag these tears in their veins
smear their faces with the ashes
the ashes
dispersed in the dust
of lands that learnt to forget
leaves that move
towards the warmth of moonlight
under the shadows of this clouded plight
leaves that row
towards the islands of hope
on this lonely boat
the hunter knows
hope is a dangerous tool
in the hands of the hungry
and the poor
he stretches the bow
tightened by fingers of the few,
guardians
of law,
and order.
(disordered laws
of unlawful orders)
the arrow sharpens its steely gaze,
tumbling through the stairs of the breeze,
stabs the weakest link in the chain,
the moist spot of the boat.
waves of the ocean
seep, like pus, into the wounds
of the hunted ones
the leaves shaking
from wave to wave
from wound to wound
push,
with their final breath,
this sinking boat
the hunter rests on the shore,
throwing stones into the tranquil sea
while the ripples surge
through the backbones,
bent and quaint,
of the silent fish
swallowing
the hunted ones,
few dead,
fewer living,
leaf after leaf…
this never ending grief!
