A radical spoke on religion
A politician condemned him
And all hell broke loose
In the name of God
Men were mercilessly slaughtered
Buses, houses, fields burnt
Molotov cocktails, acid-bulbs, guns and bombs
Were used a plenty – in perversion
Blood flowed through streets
Possessions and dreams – shattered
Relations, relatives – all murdered
And hunger followed anger
Heavens uncontrollable, cried
Thunder and lightning struck
The city turned grey and gloomy
And the streets were flooded
Passions cooled, calmed
A few radicals were arrested
Life slowly turned normal
But the wound – would it heal?
Beautiful write. Very true said Will the wound ever heal? No choice left people have to go for their work, schools and colleges work as usual, Life seems to be turned to normal in a day or two...I had witnessed stone pelting in trains to stop the train, finally the train halted at Thane. All the ladies passengers just sat buried under the seat of compartment, we could see stones coming inside the compartment piercing glass windows of train. It was many years back...Next day the train ran as usual. Good topic you have chosen. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thanks Geetha. I'd written this 30 years back in a scrap book that I found among some of my old possessions. That was the trigger for my starting to write now. It's unfortunate that vandalism and mob culture are something we have to live with. No amount of laws, their enforcement or courts can bring in what's missing in basic civic sense. I should, like in one of your poems, thank Poem Hunter for giving us aspiring poets to express and share our views.