‘Peace prevails …’

Faizan, 23, last seen in a video, has died.
And with him has died, temporarily – 
the pogrom, the violence, the riot, –
till the next one,
1947-80-84-92, 2002-20 — — — 
Choose the year, and fill in.   

You have been put in numbers, 
in parenthesis
(dead 53)
(battered 298)
(missing 27)
unaccounted in drains and gutters
are worthless bones of man or beast.  

Behind their shields and riot gear
Combat uniform parades ghostly streets 
singed and burnt to rubble,
The Flag March done. 
Terror reinforced.
Khakhi absolved.
The State yawns in slumber.

Streets are being cleaned,
evidences washed
batons, swords, pistols holed
Gasoline back in tanks.
Peace committees formed,
compensations announced –
the perpetrators have been sanitized.

There is no evidence, no proof.
No witnesses.
Stab wounds don’t match the knives
bullets holes don’t fit the pistols
missing limbs can’t name the swords
machetes and sickles have returned home
Razors anesthetized.

Consummated, the diabolical mob, 
the nationalist vandals,       
the barbarians, return 
to their Masters in white caps 
Unsatiated yet.

‘It is behind us.’ 
‘Forget it now.’ 
‘Carry on with your lives.’
‘Normalcy has been restored.’

‘Peace prevails …’
in burnt houses
and looted shops
in mortuaries and
in bigoted hearts.

Redemptive stories have replaced
gory headlines and visuals of carnage; 
television debates ‘raison d’etre’.
Echos of  Ekta, bhaichara, peace, harmony 
and Gandhi quotes resound to
soothe collective guilt.  

Human chains, national anthem, tiranga yatras
performed to showcase falsified unity, the
secular fabric torn to shreds
has been darned with blood. 

The bigots chant
‘you must conform (to the mob)
you the minority, you the suspect’.
they enact many plays at the same time
on one stage is 
a presidents’ visit to Sabarmati, 
an idea of peace at Rajghat
on the other
dipped in poison, a sabre is thrust
in the apostle of peace.
The contagion of violence spreads
fires, destruction, killings
the virile state dines on brutality
torments contiue.  

  • To violent carnage in Delhi, February 2020

Dark girl in my dream

In my dream I see a dark girl
there is a window with a thin layer of dust
that obscures her face
inside the room there is the last light
of setting sun, the orange beam slitting the door
whispers a bronze sheen on her bare shoulder
outside it is dark, with no escape ladder
I wait on a moonless night
to watch her glow, she moves closer
out of focus, closer still, ah
the face fills the window glass,
that separates us. A breath imprint struggles
to escape the barrier – misty vapours
eatherise the faceless over my lips.
-RA

You live among the graves

You, the ashen alyssum
homing in on dark bushes
breeding maggots
feeding on flesh.
You the fetid parasite
carrion, the rotten stink
a toxin laced tongue
devouring pith.
You, the stench of
malignant blossoms
a venomous creeper, you
had to attract snakes.
You live among the graves
the poison pollinator,
a corpse floret
of foul odour.
You the venin
cloaked in smirk
a shrew, spiked with malice
must be crushed,
must die.