By Raja Puniani
When I look at
The mirrorized river of wounds
Waiting for death
A dagger whispers at my ears:
Scars are what
we are Today.
After searching for one’s insane shadows falling over
Faint footprints on the sea
I realize:
Scars are Identities
Fossilized by our silent songs.
Scars scare as the scarecrows of scattered screams do.
Scars tell of those untold tales of toils.
In those missing links of history
Where no word was a word
No color was a color
No blood was blood
Scars were
Names
Never given by lost lovers
Faces
Never seen by friendly enemies
Houses
Never burnt by any skeptic fire.
When I see
The fallen leaves of memories
Strewn on the road
A bird on the branch sings to me:
Scars are what
Scarce time leaves behind
After it has crossed a steep turning
Scars of defeats, wounds, fear, and tears are
Tireless Bards of native Road
Who sing from the throats of their belly.
Without scars
Beautiful and sad scars
Our lives would have been too flat to toss off
Recklessly.
[Raja Puniani (b. 1977) is an Indian poet and literary activist, based in Siliguri, India. He writes in many languages, including Nepali, English, Hindi and Bangla, and his works have been widely translated and circulated. His published works include Arko Lashkar, a collection of poems. A post-graduate in management, he is Assistant Professor (Humanities) at Surendra Institute of Engineering and Management (SIEM), Siliguri and is one of the proponents of Hastakshep, a literary movement underway in Darjeeling and its vicinity ]