The Insomniac Indian Poem by NAQUI AHMAD JOHN

"The Insomniac Indian"


Down the white lofty ranges
In wet green fields
Along the ganges
Stood the convent
With frenzied fathers

"India is my country and I am proud
of..."

Till 90s it meant something
But now the father has lost his cane
And the cross bleeds again

Dripping drop by drop
Red blood clots into stain
Lofty whites linger the rain
Ganga slithering into pain

Dead dolphins, rising piers
Red shrouds, sinking pyres
Billowing smoke, hazy horizon
Where the mind is full of fear...
And the head droops low

The tryst with destiny keeps fretting
Didi and Gogo have stopped waiting
Hira-Moti as carrion stinking
Raju the Guide keeps misguiding
Shiva's noosy nose crumbling

Hindustan hamare Hamid is dead
"Eid Mubarak" tagged watsapped
Warm embraces torn in maslaks*
Shivering claybuddhas* extinct
Gas balloons on mobile screens
MPs on mosque gates
Beggars shooed away straight

Dropping birds under pale leaves
Dropping beads after chanting leaves
Dropping babe's in dark streets
Dropping boxes empty despite feats

India is my country and I want
To be proud of Its
Rich and burried* heritage

Oh Father pick up the cane
Restore the sheen of cross again!

Will the Burak return again?
Will the Ghat flood again?
Will the monk still ordain?
Will the tramps wait again?