Ok.. I seem to have written this poem when the carnage at Godhra and Ahmedabad happened. This poem was dedicated to all the victims of these massacres.
The Rivers of Blood
Deep in the interiors of the battered lands
Carving the courses with shapeless hands,
Unhindered flow, a thousand scarlet streams
Fed by sadness, endless tears and shattered dreams.
The monotonous, moaning, deathly song
Piercing the stillness all night long,
Filling it with stories-of mistrust, betrayal, and hatred.
Thence they flow- the rivers of blood.
Parched throats, barren eyes, seeking love all their lives,
Thousands wander on the land, shadowed by bloodened knives.
Deep they suck, with never ending thirst,
Lest they dry, fall down and rust.
Down beneath the trickled blood seeps
Sorrows and sighs – it hoards and reaps.
To nourish the stream, down it goes,
Joins the troop and along it flows.
Woe! Begone! To the hand with the glistening knife
Alas! Its my friend of yesters who holds strife.
Yet its he, who brought this gloom-
The drought of hell, the message of doom.
One wonders why, in the stead of love,
We always choose to hate our brethren?
We choose to kill, we choose to burn
Them whom we would love and be loved in return.
Its an attempt futile – we fail to see,
The game of death fills us with glee.
Blinded by rage – the glisten of scarlet and burning red,
Like fools we swim, in the rivers of blood.
You say-I say