How did you kill your poets

How did you kill your poets?
The ones who sang of
desert roses and fountain of miracle?
How did you poison their dreams?
The vales that whispered
Tales of love, melancholy
and sacrifices
How did you taint their verses
with blood
Replacing the ink that coloured the sky
with stars in the night
and clouds during the day...

Pens and diaries
Replaced by guns and diktats

There was a door
With a dream catcher
Now, it has dents.

Did you use bullets or bombs?
Or just sealed it tight
So tight, that neither the zephyr
Nor the sunlight could walk in.
The poems trapped inside
Knocked hard
Shouted
Banged on the sealed entrance...
It must have been the impact that left the dents...

But I know, the last dying flower told me,
The screams had silenced
Before the wood cracked
Out of agony.

In collective grief,
The sun, the forest, and the gardens
Withered.

Now, a dry heatwave sweeps
The streets where unwritten words
Wander like a madman.
The poet's body, still walks,
A zombie, adapted to routine.
A day, that is sans melody,
Nights, that sleep quietly,
And mornings, that pray,
But only through their lips.
The hearts,
And the eyes,
Are empty.

How did you kill those poets?
Their verses seek justice
They counter, and question
Your chants and diktats
But there are no listeners...
The city is dead.

~Saba 

Nomad gods

My gods are still nomads
They refuse to settle
At Vaikunth, or Amravati
Uninterested in petty offerings
They roar in the thunder of clouds
That travel from the Indian ocean
To Himalayas
Every year
Because Tibet calls them...
And yet they do not know
Any of these names.

My gods are nomads.
They still march behind
The goddesses
And invoke them
To face the demons
In the world outside,
Or within.
But unlike the new gods
They never claim
To have given birth
To that woman.

My gods are still nomads.
Ferocious warriors
Vehement lovers
Enlightened scholars.
They sit and listen to the sages
Recite Vedas
And watch over oceans raising land
And humans emulating the gods
Walking
From Volga
To Ganga
Naming rivers,
Counting mountains
Choosing valleys and plains.

For those who settled
In the comfort of fertile lands
The gods settled as well

For the tribes
That hid behind mountains
Or were lost deep in forests
The gods remained the same.

I found one,
Grazing cattles along a vale,
Another, smoking a rolled Tendu leave;
Yet another, hunting with stone headed arrows.
These gods refuse to speak new languages
And yet they understand
That the world has moved on

There are many gods
Mine, are just nomads...
Mine, are the unsettled ones.


~Saba

Narcissist

In a stagnant night,
amidst a storm,
I fell in love with me...

Oceans,
That formed land
And made way for mountains;
Felt all swelling in my chest.

A tide
Without moon
Empty skies
A night so dark
The world ceased to exist
To the eyes.

It was just me
And a mirror...
My own reflection
Tricking me
Like Narcissus by the pool.

And yet,
It was not me
I was not what my eyes see.

The skin in shade of sun kissed earth,
Black, of the sky
Just before the dawn in my hair,
A face that held innocence;
And eyes
That betrayed it.

Nor was I the mind
That fancied decorating words
Like lace
At the hem of my handkerchief...
I knew, I had hearts tied
In the knots of my braid
Admirers of the expressed and unexpressed...
Of beauty of the clay,
Or it's master.

And yet
Neither the flesh I could touch
Nor the intangible mind
Was me...

The skin would wrinkle and perish,
And the mind would lose all memories cherished;
The words I colour this paper with,
The acts that leave eternal imprints...
All would return to the elements.

There is a soul somewhere;
I cannot see or feel
Is that really me?
A stranger, in MY body...

A timid whisper
Broke my trance
I saw a finger
Trace my lips
For words were buried
Somewhere beneath
For words had lost
Relevance, and meanings.

A pair of eyes
Darker than the hour
Invited me
To join the eternal search
"Seek no answers
For the quest
Is the purpose".

Was it the mind or the body
That was misled
For desires
Had set all on fire
And On a sizzling bed,
Made out of ash
Of my newly burnt identity;
I made love to myself...

~Saba

Heaven and hell

You talk about heaven and hell
in the same breath
as you talk about your gods
with half or quarter of a life
unlived.
you preach the way of living;
And while death hasn't yet kissed
your undeserving lips...
You speak-
Of an afterlife, or many...
Of sins and redemptions
Of virtues and vices...
Though you, have none.

When you surrender your days
to the safety of familiar
and protect yourself
within unseen walls;
That outlive you...
Me...
And even the tortoises!
You do not count it as a sin...

Every time you conform.
Every time you comply.
Every time you fail to question why!
your soul is condemned
but you do not realise.

Your sins, too small...
The virtues, insignificant...
Your prayers, shallow...
The rituals, hollow...
trying to appear sacrificant.

A morsel of food less,
an extra length of cloth.
Words of a language
you do not speak
Empty of meaning
or identity

Imposed,
Artificial,
Stagnant
Repressive...
Fake.

But... you blame it on the divine;
and then say, it is just a belief.....

~Saba

Scarlet

how cautiously you tread
on the broken glass
of your own dreams
Alta reddened feet
or is it the blood of your heart
breaking the confines
of eyes that cry no more
and wounds that refuse to heal...

how elegantly
you kissed and forgave
even though the taste lingered
disrupting the calmness
of nights
empty of breeze
stars
or lamps...

scarlet eyes
staring at ether

every time you blink
time stops and wonders
if you are made of fire
or you chose to burn
in your own desires

and yet not a word
slips your lips
scarlet, like your eyes
and feet

How alluring
is the music of your silence
when you dance with you Alta reddened feet
on shards
carefully lain on the ground
like echoes
of an unwritten poem
or the promise of love
unwavering faith
in the words
of a bygone spring.

~ Saba

Noet: Alta is a red liquid used in India to colour hands and feet.

Untitled

Note: More than a structured poem, this is an expression of emotions that have been overpowering.


We are not at war yet...
There is a mad rage at the border
They brought home 17 corpses...
No... 18... 19... 20...
The count keeps going up.

So many unknown faces
little known names
I wish for no more martyrs
The soil of my land
wants to lose no more
sons or daughters...
It craves to know better
The father, the husband, the son he was
The artist, the farmer, the entrepreneur he was...
He must have sung an ode to his motherland
He must have written a verse to his beloved
He must have craved for his child's embrace...
The martyr who died for me
Was so much more than just a name...

My motherland is weeping
She lost another son
I try to detach myself
Write a few blank paragraphs...
His name, his unit, his state...
Tributes are paid.
A daughter promises to serve the country like her father,
A son promises he would follow his steps
A wife, a mother, a father, knowing they will never see him again
Hail the nation with a 'Jai Hind'...
Hand in hand, sorrow and pride.

My nation, standing up, fighting for its place in a complex world
In its foundation buried
humble stories and priceless lives,
Known, unknown, acknowledged, unacknowledged...
The soldiers face death,
without regret...

We crave for peace, and go to war...
We, distant brothers and sisters
The Indus and Ganga, cry out loud
Shed no more blood along man made lines...

I remember the painting by a sailor
I once saw at a Navy mess
The articulate handwriting of a pilot recording his adventures
In a diary, sitting proudly at an Air Force station
A poem an Army officer
Framed, and hung

I crave to meet them all,
Not as martyrs... not as cold corpses
As the warm people they are.

Two beautiful lands
of beautiful people
At a misplaced war

I cannot bear another tri-colour clad coffin
I can see the unshed tears each one of us holds
How proud, but sad our faces are
As we sing the 'Jana Gana Mana'
The ode to our people, who choose their own destiny

I know the strife will not stop for a poet
Or a mother
Or a son...
And yet for peace we pray.

~Saba