Ananya Guha Poems
|44.||Its Soul Will Speak||10/30/2015|
|46.||Reading Banalata Sen||9/26/2015|
|48.||Must I Not Write?||9/25/2015|
Comments about Ananya Guha
They come with the spring
They come with summer
They come infested with flies and pock marks.
They are despised
Their baggage is children, women
The men have no place.
They want new territories.
They are culpable
They could be anything, anyone.
But most important of all
they are refugees, seekers of change
as the wind billows
and storm screams
They are whip lashed by wind
and bathed with waters, roaring
They are refugees.
Come me you let us go to relief camps
see their plight and write stories
media stories. Not ...
They are baying for blood
blood the colour they have not seen
they have heard it is red
they want to foist religion
on the dead tree of a country
they are searching for blood
and catwalking with sentiment
upturning history, refashioning
it in glossy new text books.