The following poetry has won the First Prize under Poetry Category in ‘Black Coffee Competition 2017’ organized by the Literary Committee at MICA.
Act 1
It clutched the being by his lapels,
And thrust the knife into his belly, five times dead.
It moved onto the next, before the body fell,
Pushing the sullied metal into his throat.
Rage in its heart, firing its belly,
Death painting its black fingers red.
It strangulated the third, a terrified teen,
Murderous frenzy writ large in its eyes.
It heard a roar of mass of beings,
Light jabbed at it from all sides.
Cut by a thousand wounds, it fell,
As the glare engulfed it whole.
The horde of beings plunged headlong,
With torch in their hands, and red in their eyes,
Into the throng of the shadow assailants,
Incendiary hearts torching cool rage alive!
The moon cried itself to sleep, the sun gasped at the shocking sight.
Of writhing bodies and splattered blood,
Of shadows going up in a “poof” of nothingness,
Of vultures and crows swooping in for the spoils,
Of filthy gutters and the burnt stump of a tree,
For the Englishman –
An aimlessly rolling tyre was the harbinger of death.
“How many died?”
“Your majesty, 1400 shadows and 1451 beings.”
“What is it that they wanted?”
The minion reflected for a moment, then said,
“Operation.”
Act 2
The Englishman: –
The manila envelope in front of you,
Spells out how we get out of this soup.
Just a small tear in the fourth dimension,
And you are free to carve out your own nation.
Beings above and shadows underground,
Everyone’s happy and there is hardly a frown!
The Pragmatist: –
But then sir, how would we take a dump?
With no underground sewage, we would be up our rumps!
And about that gold buried deep,
Would some of that, in our pockets, seep?
The coal, the crude and the minerals galore,
With access to none, it would leave our economy sore!
Stony silence: –
By god! It doesn’t speak and just sullenly glares,
And like a dog in heat, its teeth, bares.
But others are oblivious,
As they can’t make out whether it is scowling or serious!
It hops from one wall to the next,
Muttering curses as it reads the text.
We also need the sky!!
The Madman: –
But why are we discussing division,
And even mulling over this unnatural operation?
Is it not true that day complements night?
Tide follows ebb, and shadow the light?
Stony silence: –
Snarling like an animal, spittle forming at its mouth,
Hovering over the Madman, ever ready for a bout!
We follow no one!
The Englishman: –
Let’s all calm down for a second,
For curbing chaos, a swift move is reckoned.
A split, an incision – is our only recourse,
Or a bloody civil war will run its course.
If not ground and below, what about side by side,
With equal parts of earth and heaven to preside?
The Dreamer: –
Oh my, it would be a wondrous sight!
All men would be equal, fearing no tyrant’s might.
Industries, highways, colleges, hospitals, irrigation,
Granaries, railways, laboratories and gas stations!
A tryst with destiny, is what I call,
As for my nation as for Shadowstan, gains would be windfall!
The Madman: –
Are all your eyes covered with mud?
Aren’t we all brothers, our bonds thicker than blood?
Do you think that an operation would bring us peace?
Will it oil our clunky machinery and act as grease?
It would exacerbate our hatred,
A vicious circle of violence, will continue unabated!
The Englishman: –
Let’s prolong the discussion no more,
I call for votes, let’s stop the carnage and the gore!
Those who say ‘Aye’ –
The Madman: –
Wait, listen to me!
The Dreamer: –
For the country of my dream, I say ‘Aye’!
The Madman: –
The violence won’t stop, it’s –
The Pragmatist: –
‘Aye’ from me, let’s decide the dates!
The Stony Silence: –
It fidgeted from feet to feet,
Delighted, that these people were dancing to its beat.
Except for the heartbroken madman,
They all had accepted the plan!
I say, ‘Aye!’
Act 3
Cheers erupted, and hands were shaken,
The land was carved up and partitioned.
The operations followed, they were bloody,
Murder and rampage left the land soggy!
A madman who cried for peace,
Was accused of fratricide, communal hatred, decimation and decrease.
Jeered, taunted, rebuked and threatened,
They shot him dead, in a cold-blooded murder blatant!
Author’s note: – On the occasion of the ‘Martyrs’ day’, this poetry is written in memory of the father of the nation, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.
Alienman 