Dead Meat

Dead Meat

At his death bed
He said
‘I have no beef with you
Dear neighbors
Just an advice
To think twice, nay, thrice
Before you peer into someone’s plate
Or ask his name to judge his faith
And relegate to an imaginary box
Where all made-up-enemies stay
Away from your discriminating eyes 
And twitching hands that seek blood
Of those who pray to different gods
Of those who lead different lives
Of those who hold different minds. 

In these times
Death is better 
Than living in a land 
Where ideas are safer 
Than human lives.
Where hungry gangs return more satisfied 
Than famished farmers who would rather die
Where leaders strive to mollify
‘hurt sentiments’ of murderous mobs
While dead shoulders carry the blame
Of their bloody demise

I know now
That death is any day better 
Than watching festering wounds slowly
Eat away at the very fabric of 
What makes this nation great. 

Today you killed the idea of India
Over a morsel of meat.
With each blow you blew into dust
The dreams of a people who lived as one.
Do you realize that
In the land of a billion gods,
You took offense to a man choosing just One.

Rhythms of a forgotten city

Clouds assemble and invoke the wind
Now rain drops on the window sill
A steaming cup of tea warming me from within
The familiar smell of a favourite ol' book (More dog ears than I can count!)
The feel of damp, yellowing pages against my hands as I sift through worlds beyond
Battles fought and won and regretted
Warriors killed, leaving anguished sweet hearts in their wake
Orphaned kids and mourning widows
Fate stealing the light from their eyes and twisting it into a knot
Tight. Un-knottable.
Muted laughter and an escaping sob
All this and more
Whispers caught by the wind and taken to a solitary writer's pen
Hasty words spilt on paper and sent to distant lands
And to me
So let me sit back and, with teary eyes, listen to the rhythms of a forgotten city
While this one strangles itself to death