The region was splitting into two, one where

Papa was taking me in a bus so crowded,

My mother and sister and home were

In the other, behind us, all raped and dead.

I didn’t realise then, while they happened.

Only flames and cries I saw around our hut.

Shouts against our stay were sloganed,

And not just that, and not just that.

Buses crossed us, as we traveled. Papa told,

Welcome people were moving to places

where their religion, their majority ruled.

I noticed, as only I could, orphan faces.

Clutched in my hands, in that flounder

was the red bound book on renewal

from the library that was now in powder

and that that would not belong, even on arrival.

Sixty years had passed, since our moving;

Dailies remember every year our hardship.

Our countries are still fighting, houses burning,

Maybe they just can’t live in friendship.

A Million Hopes

A million babies come out every second. A million souls exit every second. Between these two millions, there are millions of millions breathing with some hope or the other. Some want to bite a pizza, while some risk their lives to deliver that pizza on time. Some want their sons to carry on their family business, while the sons want to get out and study abroad. Some want to restore an irresponsible president, and some want to bomb in opposition. A country has become a playground, and some in it want to cross the blue sea and escape the madness, while others in it want to survive under their beds until the bombing goes silent. There is hope hiding in every beating heart, that their needs would find closure before the heart stops beating. While respecting every hope, let us also make sure ours do not get in the way of others. Or at least, let us hope to make sure.

A Breakthrough Love

With blood gushing from my torn knees and a heaviness weighing on my weak head I walked, falling and getting up, to nowhere. It was all the same to me, wherever I turned. The loose grains of sand were everywhere; under my feet… on my face… sticking to my wound by the adhesiveness of my thick blood. I walked, leaving a trail of dark patches behind me made brighter by the burning disc above. This was the imagery of my life until you showed yourself as a small oasis with limpid water and lush-green vegetation.

I survived thereon.