A Voice From Dadri

A Voice From Dadri long poem

Photo by wazimu0

A helpless, harsh cry
Erupts the neighbourhood
Then comes the sound of rumbling
As if there is a storm breaking down
Our thin walls
I listen intently and feel my heart
Pound in fear
I look around the tiny room
Eyes roving over my stifling life
And put off the stove on which I was toiling

The door is locked from outside
Frustratingly, I look towards
The hateful rusted iron bars
Left with no choice
I hold on to them and
Peer out of the small window

A menacing crowd has gathered underneath
But surprisingly it has familiar faces
I want to call out to Raju, Manu, Pappu and Guddu
And ask what’s happening
But then are they really Raju, Manu, Pappu and Guddu?
Squinting my eyes,
I concentrate on their distorted faces
Why are they so angry and fierce,
When shouting Bharat Mata Ki Jai?

My breath suddenly stops as my eyes spot
The bloodied iron rod with the yellow paint
The same grey shirt, I had washed last night
And that unforgettable nasty smile
Which I see before he raises his hand
And hits me hard when he feels like

Slowly turning my head around
I count loudly
1, 2, 3, 4…
The fifth is missing
Of the yellow broken tractors’ parts
That had been lying in the corner
I slump back from the window
Staring, still for a long time
The dreadful wailing of the woman
From the house below ours
Gives me a sudden jolt
And I recall the heavenly taste of the bowls of
Eid sheer khurma she had distributed
And lovingly taught me to pronounce it
Sheer Kh-Kh-Kh-urma
Only last week, wasn’t it?

Trembling, I look back at the iron parts
They are mockingly surrounding me with a yellow-hued chill
Bleeding red, my tears roll down
Matching the colour of the sirens on the cars
That are screeching to a halt …

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Painful truth, written in a beautiful manner!!


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