MAKING THE CUT*
The desolate railway tracks
Left on the sides of them
Overrun and disfigured
The train that had taken thousands away
Dead and alive
Have left several behind
Rolled off from the platforms
Few have fallen on the side tracks
Let the flowers of Amaltas
Cover the bodies
The tiny yellow flowers
Might protect the last vestiges
The dogs have sniffed them out
Dragging their prizes away
The fight amongst them begins
Gnarling Growling
Tearing to shreds
Those fingers that would have held someone elses…
These are times to turn away one’s face
These are times to go deaf
Across the platform a man lies down
Under the Amaltas tree
Left behind
Waiting for another train
Maybe it will return to take him away
Away from the horror that he has seen
And done
He had to do it to protect himself
How else could he survive?
He had to lie
He had to kill
How else would he make it?
That face amongst the bricks
One eye closed
The other –empty
Just a face lying
Amongst the bricks
Submerged in water
That face that held no questions
As if made out of mud…
A dog comes near
Sniffing the bruised ankle
The eyes open in fear
You cannot fall asleep
You cannot live to tell the tale…
(The poem has tried to imagine a scene during the time of the Partition as heard from a generation that experienced it first-hand)
WHATS TO BE?
To be or not to see
To see and not to breathe
To breathe and to tell
To tell and not to dwell
To dwell and then leave
To leave and then rewind
To rewind and then grieve
To grieve and then receive
Receive what?
A consolation?
A constellation of thoughts/words/ideas/minds
Down and down
The spiral thread
Up and up
The straight one
Descend into madness
Madness that casts a shadow
Nay not cast; hides us
Hide behind that pillar.
Look! The sun is coming up
Close your eyes
Close them tight
The graves have started to dig themselves up…
Issue 97 (May-Jun 2021)