Gaurav Ojha
When I saw Fire on rubber
And felt thunderous bamboo sticks on back
Some Bullets were fired by Thin MEN under the instruction of someone bigger
There were cuts on the flesh,
Red patches on the street, and
Rage over voiceless agonies
AND SOMETHING CHANGED
With Martyrs standing on the street
For some their funeral were missed
Young brads had their first bandage on their heads
Hit them hard as if nothing was inside
Those who were shouting slogans back then
They have been put into a standby again
After years and years on, I ask
When crowds gather aside:
From where do they get their narrative, who writes their scripts, why so much anger, what have you to get from this….
Perhaps, they haven’t heard how lousy Lizards sing their good old tune: I, me, one more me and MINE
Your compare-and-contrast doesn’t work
From our sacrifice
See the Lizards have made the most
We shall have to wait, tillAgain we wait
THE SUN SETS AGAIN
WHEN a DOVE chirps, Pigeon tweets, the Dragon COMES, the EAGLE FLIES
OR as the Lion RETURNS
THEY come to scratch on our back
Till they fix on
WHO SHALL CONTROL US?
Aren’t we like rabbits and rats?
Running inside the small box
Dogs living on mercy
WHO ARE WE TO BLAME?
OURSELVES
Still lots of noises keep on recuperating
COME BACK, RETURN, EVEN BETTER OR GO ON
With too less of thinking
It will again be another useless passion
INDEED it WAS A LARGE GATHERING
In a land where nothing never happens
Nothing ever happens
THE SUN SETS AGAIN
AND IT IS NOT AWFUL
THINGS REMAIN SAME
[Gaurav Ojha is engaged as a faculty of communication, critical thinking, academic writing and marketing research at different educational institutions. As a part of his creative interests, Mr. Ojha has regularly published opinion posts, poems and articles on a wide range of topics from death, disease, social issues, and humanism to post-religious spirituality.]