As the valley bleeds...
She held a branch of olive in her hand
but they chopped off the hand of peace.
Now blood drips down through the valley.
They run through those mud melt drains
Into the river that cried a silent tale
for years.
Have you ever seen death?
Have you ever seen blood rolling down that island ?
Have you heard her children cry?
Have you seen them bleed from their eye?
The white dove,that once flew across the blue horizon, has died.
Her feathers lay in tatters across the street.
Where workers swipe, in guilt, they swipe it clean.
Is there a heart that is hurt?
Is there a soul that feels the blood?
In the name of god, and in the name of love,
they burnt our trust. They painted the valley with red and hate
to whom does it matter?
to whom does it hurt?
Politics of religion
and matters of heart ,
play hide and seek
with conspiracies of the smart
They make us numb, they confuse us
They distort possibilities of a rebellion
against subsistence demands.
Killers they flee, the killers they run away
unknown, unrevealed.
But the stains they leave behind stay fresh in our backyards
the stains they leave behind stay fresh in our minds.
....................................................................................................................................................................
Songs of diaspora
1. Hawao ki siskiya
kaha sunai deti hai ab?
yeh raaste bhi khamosh sa bikhre pare hein.
Shaam se hi andhera ghar ka kona le leti hein,
aur inhi galiyo mein kehi usuloka gala ghot diya jata hein ab.
Ek musafir, jo rail ki patri ko takta raheta tha,
aaj ghar laut aya hein,
aur kuch parindey jo kabhi chod chale the apna ghosla,
tarap te rahete hei un galiyo mein lautne k liye.
Zindagi uhi chalti hein mere shehar mein,
raat pe lipti huyi soye hai sab,
na suraj ka pata hein,
nahi uski aaneki koe umeed.
