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A protest poem by Sehar about the bloodstained kurta of a father with the blood of 13-year-old son.
Blinded Children
Maimed youth
Scarred men
Disillusioned women
Bloody chaurahas*
Silent streets
Chaotic hospitals
Slipping time
Race against needles of the clock and fainting heartbeats of a thirteen-year- old covered in
blood
His white kurta still smells of his son’s blood, as they lay the mortal remains to rest.
The other day the son drew a sketch of a peaceful valley.
Who knew his dreams would end so soon
Who knew his chirpy voice would be silenced by violence so soon
Alas! Who knew that a father’s most prized possession would now be a blood stained kurta.
*Note: Crossroads
©Sehar Siddiqui ‘Zulekha’
Pix from Net.
