A day before independence
By Anupama Bhargava
Girls, of about the right age, in ragged
overalls had been released like bended breathes from the unknown
clutches to race towards their homes,
And then the exported laughter on the horses, like the bullets
ripping through the human line, had chased them to the ruins.
The wavering successors of the land had
watched helplessly towards the horizon, under the common sun,
also sharing with
Mothers, clutching their babies tight inside the burgeoning
Already planning to boil their girls dead
in their (mothers’) milk.
Wives had cried blood anyways, even if
Boys had stood stiff but alive by their
father’s youthful hands that weren’t stretched with the
fighter’s spirit to be scorched by fire after being tormented
and wrapped in plastic,
Or simply falling down dead cutting the
Holding the heat of the bullets inside
All this while drawing a line between
living and dead.
Even the remnant bones had refused to cast
shadow under the jaundiced sky, out of fear of the gentlemen in
white gladly sipped wine with too blatant a nudity, exhaled up
to every heart that were now
Supposed to live with knowledge that they
have lost all what was once their and now they must live unaware
of everything but the whistles blown out for them to sprint over the hurdling bodies
to their masters.
And weeping tears thus begun to narrate the
"The whites all already had stolen the
money, the gold but this is how they began to steal life."
They seemed to have landed forever.