Talib Khundmiri

(4 February 1938 - 16 January 2011 / Karnataka / India)

Khatmalon Ki Faryaad (English) - Poem by Talib Khundmiri

One day some bugs asked a leech
Aunty what alternative do you suggest
So that instead of blood we could have something else
That would keep us away from the humans
Because now very less blood flows in his veins
Neither can we suck nor lick
We can hardly find any blood in them
Even if it is, it is so tasteless
Who knows what man has begun to eat
What adulterated food is he taking
What we drink cannot be called blood
Because, we can't make out even its color
It's rather white than red
It is more like milk than blood

There was a time we drank rivers of blood
Today we suck for hours just for a pint
What to say aunty our thirst doesn't quench at all
In fact, earlier the blood was not so dear.
Now there is no blood even in the veins of the damsels
In their gathering indeed there is no cup-bearer
Earlier their blood was like wine
That used to fill veins with sweet smell like roses blooming in garden
The moment we sucked them we felt younger again
Our restlessness took a new turn in our body
Its fragrance used to take us into trance
And we used to kiss madly our mate-bugs in ecstasy
Nowadays those youngsters have also become tasteless
In whose veins used to flow a stream of gold
Sucking them we used to get excited
And used to be enraptured by a mere kiss
Now we fall ill sucking them
We become withered, Shrunk and rotten
How far shall we describe about our sorrows
Some days ago it so happened
Foul smell had burst out from our body
For we had sucked, by chance, the blood of a hippy
What to say what the hell is in their blood
It's more poisonous than tick twenty
Man has been losing all his flavors
Oh! How much tasteless has he become
When the woeful story of the thirsty bugs was over
The leech opened out with its bleeding mouth
Till today you have been sucking the blood of the people
Now try a little the blood of a leader
Now I too live on their blood Oh!
can't say how tasty it is
It makes me intoxicated
And keeps me away from the common leeches.
The moment I touch them with my mouth
I become shrewd And uncalled for, I become dauntless
Every vein of theirs is a pool of blood
Verily every leader is its factory
Oh! How tasty is their blood
Is the blood of the starving poor any blood, pooh?
He who could suck the blood of a leader
Would as well savour people's blood


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Poem Edited: Sunday, October 21, 2012


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