Tuesday, July 17, 2012

'Cry, the beloved country'

The Woman pushes the baby born
From a suffocating drowning world
Into a one with air
Thick with pollution

And She lies writhing on the floor
Her lungs screaming for air
Her body drawing rasping breaths
While She struggles to live
For Her children
Without race, religion or caste
Bigotry, alliance or prejudice
She is all
She is none

Yet we are delivered
A race apart, a religion apart, a caste apart
From the brother born with us

While She dies, crying
We draw Her blood
As we fight to live to die

Love the people. They are the country, the nation India.

My cold shadow

A cold shadow hangs over my shoulder
Watching everything I do
But more importantly,
Remembering everything I say.
It's a reason to be mute
To think only thoughts
Never out loud
Silently hoping they will go away.

But mostly they never do
They stay there long after they're forgotten
Coming back to say "They hate you
Remember what they did."
Even if most of it was supposition.
Leading me to sometimes hate a sharing world
A loving and caring world
Where I let loose all I carry with me.

It's hard to say things when they hurt
When I want it to be hard to hurt when they say things
When I say things, when anyone says anything.
To be cold and insensitive
But I am drawn to live in a 'civilised world'
With rules and boundaries
Sometimes good, sometimes bad.

I must behave like this or do things like that
Wear clothes like this and sit like that
Eat like this and not drink like that
Be a friend like this and not an enemy like that
My cold shadow sees all I do and hears all I say
And tells me I'm rarely doing right.

How funny, to be myself, I really must be somebody else.