Why O Why? Poem by Ananya Guha

Raise your hands
there is blood hissing
on trees, wind, the rain
on hills and mountains
on deep gorges and ravines
on the inertia of simply thinking,
living.

Soul scarred are you, the blood
has left the unkindest gash
if your'e so bruised, so wounded
why don't you say so?
why don't you paint the stars, the skies
and the crescent moon, why o why?

In a country replete with myths, stories, legends
why don't you weave another myth, that of gross murder
of assault, and those murderous slums?
why don't you recant stories both of present and past?
why don't you mend
the river that perilously bends?
why o why?

Raise your hands, submerged in deep protest
not recalcitrance
why don't you give up this enormity of flesh, blood
and daredevilry?
why o why?

Today is a story, gory
tomorrow, another
unrepantant, fly the mast of backwaters
why o why?