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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