A Poem Excerpted from We Called the River Red in the latest issue of Pratilipi
Because he walked on the pavement
Where ‘Black Cat’ commandos
Brandished machine guns behind sand bags
Securing us against insurgents.
He was only sixteen.
Lying half naked, faint, prodded by microphones
And asked to narrate how and why I got caught
In a crossfire in somebody else’s war.
My war is not being fought
Those who did have died,
Those who kill now live.
Of burnt explosives clotted blood
Charred flesh outside my house
I will not watch the people
Sifting among mangled vehicles broken glass
Cast away footwear looking for the dead
I will greet everyone on the way
I will go out alone to play
Yes, I will dream everyday
Without fear today.