Mohammad Muzzammil

This is a dramatically poem on the Gujrat riot...>


Once while sleeping I saw a dream,
In a beautiful ground was playing,
That was lying near a lovely stream,
A pretty smile was the sun displaying,
Grass was tickling when we'd run,
And dew disappeared as shone the sun.

In the game, so fast I ran,
And found myself far away,
Saw back but no friend I sought,
But my eyes met an old mourning man,
May be, he forgot his own way,
I reached him curiously in this thought.

When he turned his lovely face,
I recognized, Ah! Our National Father,
Whose tender heart was full of grace,
'Why thy eyes wet? O my father!
Practising on thy doctrines, now India is free,
But, ye weeping, O ye must be glee.'

Wiping his tears he broke his ice,
'Why to be happy and on what to be gay? '
He spoke in his woeful voice,
They again and again me slay,
My home affected by violent flood,
And my yard is full of human blood.'